Car Troubles
by Saxy Lady Writes
Summary: Soul Eater Evans is a car but then he's not. Maka Albarn is a hunter with a big brain and an even bigger attitude. She hates his guts, but he's just trying to figure out what the hell is going on. But while she may hate his guts, she really kind of likes the way he looks without a shirt on. Set in the Supernatural canonverse. Written for Resonance Bang 2013. R
1. Chapter 1: The HUnter and the God

**A/N: **This is my entry for Resonance Bang 2013. It's set in the Supernatural Canonverse around the same time as when the world is ending, which is always fun. Anyway, enjoy!

_Disclaimer_: Don't own Soul Eater or Supernatural; Ookubo and the CW beat me to it. Damn.

**Chapter 1: The Hunter and the God**

It started in the middle of a moonless night, as stories like theirs are wont to do, the darkness and stillness of the early morning setting the tone nicely. Although, it really couldn't be described as beginning, per se, for it really was more of a continuation of a story started years ago. A story that had just undergone a completely unexpected plot twist—but after all, those are the kinds of stories that keep the reader turning the pages in anticipation. Actually living through this surprising change of events, however, wasn't nearly as pleasant as the storybooks made it out to be, not that Maka Albarn necessarily lived the fairytale life. When you're surrounded by the scent of rotten flesh nearly every day, a master at almost every fighting style, and have learned how to stitch up your own battle wounds, it's a bit difficult to think of yourself as a Disney princess. Especially on nights like this.

With a grunt Maka Albarn swung the machete like a baseball player going for a homerun, wincing as she felt the blade snag briefly on bone then slice cleanly through. Out of a habit born from years of unpleasant experiences, she threw her arm up to shield her face as a splatter of blood hit her sleeve. "Rest in peace, you son of a bitch," she spat, voice cold and emotionless as she used the tattered cargo pants of her victim to clean the gore off her blade.

Standing up again was a challenge, every part of her sore from when the vampire had thrown her against the metal dumpster, her spine bending unnaturally backwards from the force. Rolling out her shoulders, Maka looked about her for a place she could dispose of the mangled body; liberal and used to violence as they were, New Yorkers most likely wouldn't overlook a decapitated corpse, and she really did not need to be the target of a manhunt right now. A brief survey of the dirty alley showed there was no place to hide the body besides the dumpster she had been unpleasantly acquainted with a few minutes prior, and Maka sighed. A dumpster would be better than nothing. At least she would most likely have time to get out of the area before the body was found and the cops were called.

Corpses were never fun to deal with, what with rigor mortis beginning to set in, the dead weight, and the inescapable knowledge that she was dragging around a dead body. Not for the first time, Maka cursed her rotten luck that it had to be a vampire. Dealing with vampire corpses were the very worst, because you not only had the body itself to deal with, but also the head, since the only way to kill one was through decapitation. As Maka stared down at the headless monstre, she thought back to the medieval times, when an execution was almost a cause for a feast. She never did understand the fondness for decapitation people in the middle ages had. It was really a nasty business, although she guessed it would get the job done.

Nose wrinkled in disgust, she dragged the cadaver to the dumpster where she had decided to hide it. The body left behind an unmistakable trail of blood, and the young hunter sighed again. Another thing she would have to deal with before she went back to her rundown motel room and treated herself to late night television and cold pizza (or maybe she would splurge and get Chinese food, she wasn't quite sure yet). Through an impressive show of determination and strength, fueled mainly by the thought of being able to put her feet up, Maka got the body into the dumpster. Then, gagging and quickly losing her appetite for Chinese food because, oh, God, it looked too much like lo mein, Maka Albarn grabbed the head and, running, threw it into the dumpster.

Yes, she definitely hated this lifestyle, she thought as she leaned against the grimy dumpster, gasping for air. Recovered a little, she pushed into a standing position; she swore mildly under her breath as she felt something slimy and squishy give under her hand. Maka made a face as she wiped her hand on her already filthy jeans. She did not want to know what the substance was and hoped that when she did laundry the next day, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the dumpster goo and the street muck.

Twenty minutes later, most of the blood had been wiped up with crumpled sheets of newspaper and flyers found piled in corners of the alley and Maka was once again covered in a sheen of sweat despite the cool autumnal air. Checking to make sure the deadly blade was concealed under her trench coat, she stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.

Maka was surprised at how different the streets of the city were so early in the morning. There were still a few people awake in the city that never sleeps, but they either hurried to their destinations, hands shoved in their pockets and collars turned up against the wind, or they staggered down the sidewalks, harrassing those who brushed past them. She curled her lip at the deadbeats, angry that she had saved their sorry hides just so their addictions could kill them slowly.

Despite humanity's best efforts to dissuade her, there were reasons she did what she did. Like, there—the couple kissing under the streetlight, eyes closed and faces awash in their love for one another or the man out for an (extremely) early morning jog with his tongue lolling dog before work or the pair of what were most likely very wasted girls skipping hand-in-hand, tripping over their own feet but laughing with their whole hearts because they didn't know the terrors the world hid. Those were the moments and people that Maka worked these shitty hours to protect, the memories that got her out of bed each morning-or afternoon, depending on ghe night before-and gave her the strength to deliver the finishing blow to a creature with a child's face.

She found her courage and determination in the ordinary moments that most took for granted or didn't even notice. There was so much beauty in the world, in nature, in the love friends and partners had for one another that the horror and absolute wrongness Maka dealt with on a regular basis filled her with nothing but righteous fury. Why should there be monsters under the bed who existed for no other purpose than to destroy and pervert the beauty she so cherished? Was it because the rest of the world passed by the child laughing with the homeless man as though they were equals, the flowers that grew out of the ashes of a destroyed home, the way the setting sun reflected off the glass skyscrapers and painted the city ethereal colors, without a second glance? Was it heaven's retribution for humanity's transgressions? Maka wasn't sure, but she adamantly hoped the God she wanted to believe in wouldn't abandon His people who, though foolish, ultimately meant well. She wanted to believe in a God who would forgive. Needed to believe in a God who would forgive.

The young woman pushed sweaty bangs back with a sigh that died on her lips as her ears picked up a feminine voice speaking words that were definitely not English coming from the alley where she had parked her car. A frown tugged down both corners of her mouth; she had specifically chosen that side street because the warehouses around it were all abandoned. She flattened her back against one of the buildings and listened to the voice lilt and fall in a musical chant.

Maka's concern was quickly replaced with confusion as she deciphered the combination of Latin and an ancient dialect of Japanese. If her translations were correct—and she was fairly certain they were—then what this woman was chanting was nothing but absolute gibberish. Rise from the ashes...exchange your metal exterior for flesh long forgotten...free the soul from its imprisonment? Okay, the last one sounded fairly morbid and caused warning bells to go off in her head. But the rest? Absolute nonsense. Maka could almost swear that the woman was talking about a car-

Her car! A terrible feeling of foreboding washed over her, and, heart pounding, Maka leapt into the alley.

Her war cry was drowned out by a deafening boom and a blinding flash of light. The explosion sent her flying back amidst rubble and chunks of the abandoned warehouse and slammed her into the building across the street. Maka stayed there, slouched against the worn bricks, ears ringing, vision fading in and out of focus, gasping for breath for a few moments as she attempted to figure out what had just happened. A gas line exploded? Construction company scheduled a demolition of the building she had been unfortunate enough to park next to? No. Her head felt like it was splitting open and blood trickled into her eyes from a gash on her forehead, but she was fairly certain that what she had seen was pure white lightning strike her car, but instead of illuminating the smooth lines of the '67 Toronado, she had seen the silhouette of a long-limbed man, back arched in pain.

As she struggled to her feet, Maka sent up a prayer to the God she almost believed in, asking Him to smite whoever had stolen her car from her before remembering to beg for the safety of the man just struck by lightning. The young hunter grabbed her aching head, groaning when her fingers accidentally brushed the large lump at the back of her skull. Given the way the world was spinning, she probably had a concussion at the very least, but that wasn't important to her at the moment. As a hunter, she had the responsibility to mankind to protect them from the monsters they thought of as nothing more than nightmares and myths. In part, the civilians were correct, because, after all, not every tale was true. Some were simply stories, told to keep children long dead from misbehaving, a fact Maka was extraordinarily grateful for. But this man had accidentally—Maka hoped, at least—crossed one of these monsters, and she had to save him.

So she stumbled forward, tripping over chunks of bricks and pieces of plumbing, simultaneously trying to determine which ground was the real deal and go through the mental encyclopedia of all the creatures that had magical powers, sounded like a flirtatious woman, and spoke both Latin and a mostly forgotten form of Japanese.

Maka really, really, _really_ did not like any of the options she came up with.

First of all, the machete strapped at her waist (that she could have sworn wasn't so bloody difficult to draw the last time she used it) was all but useless against most of them, and the one monster it would actually work against was one never seen outside of Greece, and Maka really hoped would stay that way. Even worse, though, some idiots had apparently stolen her car, so any of the weapons that would have worked were all gone with it. At this point, she really couldn't imagine how this night could get any worse. But, of course, she would soon find out.

The woman was standing at the edge of the crater surrounding the man, face stretched into a triumphant smile as though she had just won the biggest prize of them all. Her quarry, however, did not seem to share her sentiment, couched and snarling as he was. His muscles were taut and he appeared ready to leap and tear out the woman's throat, more animalistic than human. As Maka limped closer to the two, she could see the bewilderment in the man's shadowed eyes, just visible under his fringe of outgrown white hair. She had to give him credit, though; even though he appeared to be undergoing some kind of existential crisis, he was still prepared to fight someone—no, some_thing_—who was above him on the food chain. The man would have made a good hunter, if fate had dealt him a different hand in life; he had the right kind of stubborn refusal to submit in the face of almost certain defeat.

Maka's heart stuttered when the monster leaned down to the man. "Hey!" she yelled. It didn't have the effect she had hoped it would because her voice was weak and hoarse, but it did get the job done, she thought, when the buxom woman straightened up and turned to Maka, one delicate eyebrow raised in polite inquiry.

"Yes?" The woman's voice was high and sweet, and Maka narrowed her eyes as she took in the creature's appearance. For the most part, she appeared human, the only give away that she wasn't a fellow homo sapiens were her claw-like nails and her riged, venous face. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing a dress that was at least two hundred years out of style and more suited for a woman of the night than an aristocrat, though the fabric (miraculously free of plaster and brick dust) was a high quality silk and velvet combination. The v-cut bodice was turned more respectable by web-like ribbons holding it closer together, mostly covering her cleavage. Maka didn't like her, if for no other reason than she was unfairly bodacious.

"Sweetheart, are you alright? I heard the explosion and ca—"

"Save it for someone who will believe your lies," the hunter spat, drawing her machete and pointing it at the monster. "I know what you are." The woman, whose once beautiful face was contorted into a snarl, suddenly laughed, throwing her head back and revealing a a mouthful of sharp teeth.

She was directly in front of Maka in the time it took the hunter to blink, grinning down at the shorter woman. "Do you now, my dear?" The creature purred, leaning in so the tip of the weapon dug into her slender throat. "Then you should also know that I just can't let you have this weapon in my presence. My apologies." She reached up and petted Maka's wrist, grabbing and snapping it before the hunter could even react. Maka screamed, dropping the weapon and clutching her broken wrist close to her chest. She stared wide eyed at the monster who was looking demurely up at her, and this close, even in the dim lighting, could see her multiple pupils and light blue irises. Only one creature had eyes like that.

Arachne, the Spider Queen. She was a Greek goddess, body like that of a beautiful woman with spider arms growing grotesquely from her torso. She was the mother of the race of monsters known by the same name. Born in Crete, her children were common there, but she had migrated to Japan when the samurais were in power, drawn by the chaos they submersed themselves in. Arachnes had never been seen in America, so Maka hadn't thought the information about the goddess and her children would be relevant. Now, as she stared their mother in her disturbing eyes, she was grateful that she had committed the facts to memory.

Maka gulped as what she had guessed this creature to be was confirmed, but she set her shoulders stubbornly and narrowed her eyes at the goddess.

"How absolutely beautiful, you _do _know who I am! And yet you're still here and haven't soiled your pants. I do believe I shall keep you for a pet for a while before I eat you."

As she backed up, the hunter flicked her eyes over to the man who was still crouched in the middle of a crater, watching the two women with a concerned frown. Upon closer examination, she saw he was held there by Arachne's web. Her eyes widened in fear for him. "Hey, you!" she called, voice shaking. He shifted her gaze to her briefly before refocusing on the Spider Queen. "Look at me, dammit! Did she get you? Answer me—_did she bite you_?" When he didn't respond, she turned back to the goddess, good hand clenched in anger. "Did you bite him, you eight-legged freak?"

The goddess merely smiled, and it was everything Maka could do to keep herself from leaping at her. "Don't be angry with him, my dear. I'm afraid he's a little bit _tied up_ right now, still trying to remember how to move his limbs. But you can't truly blame him if he doesn't want to leave, now can you? He did swear to me that he would rip my fucking throat out, I do believe those were his exact words, yes."

"You're repulsive," Maka said, lip pulled back in a sneer. Inhumanly fast, Arachne had the girl by her broken wrist, nails digging into the tender spot between the two bones as she twisted Maka's arm up behind her. The hunter ground her teeth together, refusing to give the god the satisfaction of knowing she was in pain, though she was panting from the exertion of keeping silent.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say to me?" Arachne's voice, promising vengeance and pain, sent shivers down the hunter's back, as though a bucket of spiders had just been dropped down her shirt. Maka laughed at the irony of her predicament, and the god, not appreciating the humor the girl found in the situation, used the leverage her hold on the girl gave her to push Maka to her knees, lest her shoulder be dislocated. The hunter's laugh turned into a cry of pain, and it was Arachne's turn to chuckle.

"You see, my dear, attitude gets you nothing but a slow, painful death."

Gasping, Maka forced out, "I—I can't wait to chop your fucking head off."

"Oh wonderful!" The hunter was sure that had she been able, Arachne would have clapped her hands in childlike glee, such was her delight. "Now I have two pitiful humans threatening me. I haven't had this much excitement since feudal Japan and those wonderfully unpredictable samurai! However, I'm afraid that you and Mr. Potty Mouth over there are proving to be too much of a problem to keep around for fun. I was going to turn him, but alas, now it just seems like too much of a hassle." As she was speaking, her voice was changing from its high, sweet tone of earlier to a throatier and rough version, and Maka could hear popping and crackling sounds coming from behind her that did not give her any feelings of comfort whatsoever.

She felt a hand gently brush her hair off her shoulder and was confused until she saw from the corner of her eye that Arachne now had eight arms, just like a spider, all ending in deadly sharp talons. When a claw traced her neck, leaving behind a stinging pain, Maka shrieked, losing her cool and flailing about in her captor's many arms. She was reduced to tears and desperation now that she was so close to death.

The goddess made shushing, calming noises before throwing the woman away from her. Maka grunted as she hit the ground, curling into herself to try and ease the pain. Arachne's steps were light, but with her heightened senses, the hunter heard every one loud and clear. Her vision cleared just in time for her to see the monster's foot rushing toward her face. Maka reached up and stopped the kick at the last second, sliding back over the destroyed asphalt from the force of the motion.

Arachne made a displeased noise. "Sweetheart, it'll be so much easier for you just relax and accept it. Please, do not feel as though you have to suffer for my entertainment, though I appreciate the effort." She grabbed the hunter by her ponytail, lifting her until the two were eye to eye. Maka cried out in pain, hands scrabbling at the goddess's wrists. From somewhere behind her (a place Maka really didn't want to think about), the monster produced a web, guiding it to tie the hunter's hands up and stick her to the wall. Soon, the pain of being held up by a broken wrist was overshadowed by the pain from the goddess's fists. With her one set of human-like hands, aided at times with a slice from a talon, Arachne delivered her beating. By the time the goddess was through, a majority of the girl's face was swollen, she was sure she had lost a tooth or two, and she could see only partially out of one eye, and then only occasionally, when blood wasn't clouding her vision.

At first, Maka had fought back against the goddess, trying to cut her way out of Arachne's web with her short nails, kicking out at the goddess's knees and stomach and, really, any part of her body the hunter could reach, but the Spider Queen and her web appeared unaffected by her efforts. As it got harder to breathe and the pain reached an unbearable point, Maka's attacks were slower and held less force behind them until, exhausted, she ceased all movement, hanging limp in Arachne's web. She was crying again at this point, silent tears of defeat leaving clean tracks in the dirt and burning as they traced over split skin.

In disgust, Maka assumed, Arachne cut her free, and she landed in a heap. She didn't even have enough energy to push herself into a sitting position. Besides, she thought, what would be the point? The goddess would just take it as an invitation to deliver more pain. Wheezing as she tried to breathe through the bloody mess that was her mouth, inhaling dust and dirt particles along with the vital oxygen, Maka glanced at the white haired man through the curtain of her hair. What she saw made her face lift in a painful smile; he was struggling with renewed effort to get to his feet, knees shaking, roaring something that Maka couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears. From the way Arachne's head was thrown back and her shoulders rose and fell in laughter, the hunter guessed that he was yelling threats at the goddess.

Yes, she thought, in another life, given another chance, the man would have made a fine hunter. And he still could!

Renewed strength rushed though Maka, heating her head to toe, and she twisted herself around enough to be able to look up at the Spider Queen. Muscles screaming their protests, she reached out and gripped the hem of the woman's tattered skirt, tugging to get her attention. Eyebrows raised that the puny human was still conscious, Arachne turned and looked down her nose at the hunter, who was glaring up at the goddess through one large green eye. Her haughty expression was quickly replaced with one of horror and she froze at the look on Maka's face. It was the look a predator gave its prey, a look the goddess had seen only once before, in the eyes of heaven's angels as they laid waste to the spider queen's followers.

Arachne swallowed but covered her fear with a sneer. She crouched down next to the hunter, brushing the hair from her face tenderly. "Come to ask for more, did you? I never took you for a masochist, but then again, I suppose that's just something that you only learn once you get to know someone intimately." Maka's lips moved in a whisper, and the goddess grabbed a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back. "Don't you know it's quite rude to mumble; your mother would be ashamed if she knew about your bad manners."

Maka spit blood into Arachne's surprised face and then grinned, her face contorting horrifically. "Then I guess it's a good thing my mother's dead—kind of like you'll be, and soon, I believe."

A startled laugh tore itself out of the goddess's throat. She kicked Maka in the stomach again, and the girl curled up on herself, coughing. Maka tried to back away from the goddess, one hand in front of her and the other covering her mouth. For all Maka's effort, however, Arachne kept advancing, eyes gleaming maniacally. "What, is the wrath of god going to smite me down where I stand? You poor, stupid soul. Your precious God _doesn't care_. About you. About me. About this whole damned planet! It's God_forsaken_, get it?"

She had just brought her foot back to deliver a strike to the hunter's face when a gale-force wind blew through the alley, stirring up little dust devils that picked up the smaller pieces of rubble and tossed them aside. Arachne was forced to stumble back to regain her footing, Maka shielded her eyes with an arm, squinting against the onslaught of particles, and the white haired man, the closest to the source of the wind, stared defiantly into it, hair blowing back from his face.

Silhouetted in the veil of dirt was a lanky figure clad in a well-tailored suit. As the dust settled down and lighting turned to normal, details of his appearance could be made out more clearly. He was definitely male, but when the three concluded that he couldn't be more than eighteen, they were very confused. The kid seemed not to notice the unimpressed faces of his companions as he casually brushed non-existent dirt from his suit. He had long, obviously dyed black hair, with, Maka saw when he ran his hand through it, strange white stripes wrapping around only half of his head. Altogether, he seemed like an unusually well-dressed scene kid, but nothing more. Until he looked up at Maka, and she noticed that his eyes were golden, and they _glowed_.

Who was this kid? She desperately prayed that he was a friend, or at the very least, an enemy of Arachne.

The kid's mouth moved, and despite the distance, Maka heard him clearly, as though he were standing right next to her. "Who says I cannot be both?" His voice was cold and unemotional, very nearly crackling with a power that made Maka's eardrums pop. Her eyes widened and he nodded before placing his hands in his pockets and strolling—as though he were walking through the mall or something, and not to his imminent death, Maka thought incredulously—towards her. He passed right by the white haired man without sparing him a more than a cold glance, gaze focused over Maka at the goddess who was trembling where she stood. It appeared to the hunter that Arachne was frozen in place by something, be it fear or an external force, she didn't know.

"S-s-stay back," the Spider Queen whispered. The closer the kid got, the more her breathing sounded like hyperventilating. When he stepped over Maka, placing himself right in front of Arachne, so close their chests were almost touching, the goddess raised her chin defiantly. "Let me go this instant. Or are you too afraid to fight me on even terms, fairy?" So she was being held in place, and it seemed as though it was this kid's doing.

He seemed unaffected by Arachne's insult, merely lifting an eyebrow at her desperation. Maka wondered if he really was a fairy; she knew they existed, and as she had never seen one before, it was entirely possible that he was one. But it wouldn't explain why the goddess had used the term as an insult if it really was just a simple statement of the kid's race. Either way, the two seemed to have some history—and not the good kind.

"Come now, Arachne. Certainly even you cannot believe that I would let you go when I've finally found you after years of searching. I must admit, it was quite impressive that you managed to hide from us for so long; I suppose you really are a spider, able to disappear in the smallest of cracks." The goddess snarled at him, trying to simultaneously bite at his fingers and flinch back from his hand as he moved to pat her cheek. "But you do know what I must do now. It will be a beautiful moment for me, so try very hard not to ruin it, will you? I know destruction is in your nature, but please restrain yourself."

This time, she couldn't flinch back from the kid as he cupped her head in his hands. His eyes lit up a bright white as he stared at her, and her face stretched in pain as she screeched, a death wail that had both humans covering their ears in pain. Maka couldn't help but watch in morbid curiosity as blood leaked from Arachne's eyes and nose, as she went limp in the kid's arms, as the light faded from around him and he let her drop in disgust, wiping his hands on the goddess's clothing because he wouldn't soil his own suit with such dirty things.

When he turned to Maka and held out a hand, she cringed back away from him, curling into herself once again, as though she expected him to deliver death just like he had to Arachne. Maka didn't know what or who he was, but this kid, who looked so silly and pretentious on the outside, was powerful enough to kill a goddess with his bare hands. The kid sighed before grabbing her elbow and pulling her to her feet surprisingly gently. Though she was most certainly older than him the top of Maka's head barely reached his chin. She whimpered at the strain her body was under as she tried to stand on her own. He wrapped a supporting arm around her middle, and, against her better judgment, she leaned into him. The pressure on her torso hurt, but it wasn't as bad as trying to support herself.

"Better?" His tone was soft now, high and nasally and no longer coated with raw power.

The hunter couldn't twist her neck around so she couldn't see the compassion in his face. Though it hurt to speak, she forced herself to do so anyway. "Who," her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Who—what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the lord, Maka Albarn."

She searched his face, and apparently finding something she didn't like, scoffed and pushed him away. Her efforts didn't do much to him, but she did manage to make herself stumble back a few steps until she found her balance at the wall. Clutching at the bricks to hold herself up, she narrowed her eye at him. "You're full of shit," she said coldly.

"I'm…what?"

**Maka's derisive laugh quickly turned into a hacking cough. She fell to her knees, fingers digging into the asphalt as she choked, spitting blood. She heard her name called, the two syllables echoing in her head as though they were yelled from the opposite end of a tunnel. She was struggling to breathe again, the ground below her blurring. She heard the scuff of steps on loose stones, saw the distorted outline of a knee, felt the light touch of two fingers on her forehead, and then she knew no more.**


	2. Chapter 2: Hospital Adventures

**A/N:**Don't own Soul Eater or Supernatural; Ookubo and the CW beat me to that. Damn.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Hospital Adventures **

The kid caught Maka as she slumped forward, carefully picking her up. He carried her as though her muscle-bound body weighed nothing—which the white haired man knew wasn't true. As the teenager walked toward him, he gripped the crumbled asphalt under his hands, not even noticing as the stones cut into the tender skin of his palms. Some part of him, the part that Maka had seen and admired, despised his disabled situation, hated that he was so incapable of doing anything besides crawling like a fucking _infant_ to defend himself. He knew there was no logical reason as to why he was so inexplicably furious at himself for being so damned useless, furious at Arachne for putting them all in this situation, furious at this kid and his strange powers, and furious at Maka, because, dammit, for such an intelligent woman, she could be so fucking stupid.

When the kid approached him, he shrank back as far as his bonds would allow him. He wasn't sure how he was going to get Maka back, but he would do it, somehow, some way. When the kid shifted his grip on the hunter and pulled out a strange looking knife, the man imagined the worst. Imagined dying in such an embarrassing position. Imagined not being able to do anything to save Maka. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his humiliating demise. However, all the kid did was slice the web holding him in place. He stared at the kid's proffered hand, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Listen," the angel sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you; my mission is to protect you. I would like to carry it out successfully, so please take my hand, Soul Eater."

Soul glanced between the hand and the steady yellow eyes of the kid in front of him. When he apparently took too long in making a decision, the kid rolled his eyes before crouching and wrapping his free arm around Soul's torso. Even though the weight they were supporting was minimal, Soul's legs shook when he was standing. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, he felt a tug, blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was staring at the sterile white lights shining through the doors of the hospital.

Soul's eyes immediately picked up on the large red ER on the sliding door."What the—"

"Come on," the kid cut him off. "Maka is severely injured and requires immediate medical attention." As he spoke, he headed toward the doors, not even seeming to notice the weight he was carrying. Try as he might, Soul couldn't walk and his uncoordinated, tripping footsteps did nothing but hinder the angel's progress, so he gave up and just let his feet drag on the ground as the kid carried him to the hospital.

The door slid open on its own, releasing a blast of air roughly the same temperature as the slightly-above-freezing weather outside. It seemed to Soul that nurses were upon them almost as soon as their sorry group crossed the threshold. From that moment on, it was absolute chaos, some nurses calling for gurneys while others fired rapid questions at the angel who stood frozen, mouth hanging open, overwhelmed at the onslaught of words and inquiries. Soul could tell he was a few seconds from having a breakdown that wouldn't be good for anyone in the situation. But the man sat back on his wheeled bed and watched the kid squirm in sadistic satisfaction—until a question was asked that the kid apparently knew the answer to.

"Sir, do you know what happened?"

The kid stood up straighter and cleared his throat, a new light in his eyes. "Yes, I do. These two were locked in a battle with a—"

"A gang!" Soul burst out, lunging out of the bed and grabbing the arm of the nurse with the clipboard. The kid's brows were furrowed, confused as to why Soul was lying. He opened his mouth to say so, but Soul continued on, silencing him with a fierce glare. "She and I were—um, we were walking home from a…a friend's house! Yeah, we were there to play video games? Then out of nowhere, these total asshats jumped us! Ma—um, I mean, um…Anna knows martial arts, she's been taking lessons in all forms since practically before she was walking, and so she fought them, and she got the worst of it. At least, that's what I remember; they hit me over the head with something. So…yeah," he finished lamely.

"Her name is Anna?" Soul nodded and the nurse scribbled it down. "She didn't have any identification that we could find. Do you know her last name and medical information? Then we'll take care of you."

Soul bit his lip, and then yelped as sharp teeth dug into tender flesh. Face red, he avoided the nurse's narrowed gaze, twisting the thin sheets between long fingers as he struggled to remember the name on the ID card that had been in the glove compartment. "Er, Anna…"

"Sir, do you know it or not?" The nurse was getting impatient. She was worried about him and his condition that was yet undiagnosed, but the hospital needed the girl's medical information before they could make any decisions.

"Brown!" He looked so proud of himself that despite the gravity of the situation, the nurse giggled a little. "Her name is Anna Brown, and she has an abnormally high tolerance for morphine. Just warning you."

Nodding, the nurse finished her notes and handed the clipboard off to her male counterpart, who was bouncing impatiently on his toes. As soon as the pass was made, he took off down the hallway at a run, white sneakers slapping against the multi-colored tiles. She nodded to the two nurses still remaining, and they began pushing Soul's bed down the hallway after the male nurse. When the kid started following, looking a little lost, the woman with the clipboard put a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him and gestured to the waiting room. Forlornly, he watched the small party hurry away. Then, he disappeared, mostly unnoticed, save for a minute stirring of posters tacked to the walls.

"So, could you tell us your name?" The woman asked Soul. She appeared to be the head nurse, because even as she questioned him, she was directing the others to take him to room 281.

Not wanting to give them his real name, and not even knowing if the name Maka used to call him and that the kid used was his real one, Soul stared at his hands blankly. "Um, no?" Then he remembered the woman mentioning identification on Maka, and patted his pockets to see if he had a wallet. Some struggling and squirming later and score! He had a battered and flattened leather wallet in his hand. Breath held, he flipped it open, and then immediately hunched over it to block the nurse's prying eyes from the five I.D. cards that were shoved where the cash should have been. Three of them claimed he was a government official, another (he just barely kept from laughing at when he read it) pronounced him an "associate" at Casa de Hombres, and the last one was a credit card that named him William Joel. With a sigh he read off the name on the credit card, holding it up for her inspection when she scoffed.

"So you must be a really talented piano player then," she said dryly.

"Yeah they call me the piano man. No, wait—I wouldn't know, would I? I can't remember anything or move my legs. I just got _assaulted_, after all." Soul glared at the woman and she pursed her lips, looking embarrassed and more than a little angry. At her expression, he felt a twinge of regret at his words, but quickly forgot it as they placed him on the MRI machine. When they slid him into the machine, he stiffened, uncomfortable in the small area. Nonsensical memories of him trapped in small spaces much like this flashed through his mind. Nervous sweat gathered at his temples and ran down the back of his neck. As his breathing increased, he closed his eyes and forced himself to think of something beside cramped, dark spaces. Think of Maka and the kid. Try and figure out what exactly happened in that fight between the monster—Arachne, Maka had called her—and the hunter and the kid, whoever he was. Soul's perspective of the fight had been a rather limited one, but he had heard Maka's pained yells and pleas, each one which ripped into him and caused him more grief than was logical. As the scene replayed in his head, the thud of flesh meeting flesh and the tortured screams echoed louder in his cranium than they had when they were actually occurring.

Soul's eyes flew open, cutting off the instant replay of the worst event thus far in his short life. He tried to pace his racing heartbeat to the steady _thunk_-ing of the MRI machine, inhaling for five counts, exhaling for seven, an old calming practice he had learned somewhere he couldn't recall. It felt like he was in the claustrophobic tube for ages before he was finally slid back out. The face he was met with was a different one than the nurse he had sassed earlier, and he was a bit relieved for that one reprieve. His new nurse was a girl with fiery red hair pulled back into a sensible pony tail and a broad, attractive face, looking very much like she had just pulled out a ghost.

"Oh, my God, _Soul?_ Why—what are you—you're _alive_?" She looked back at the clipboard held in her hand, then back at him.

Eyes about as wide as hers, he lifted half his mouth in an attempted smile. "Er…surprise?"

As she bustled around his room, pushing IVs into his arm with more force than he believed was actually necessary, she shot him frustrated glares. When she leaned over him, her name tag fell into his line of vision. Heather Jacobs. He racked his muddled brains for any memory of her but came up with absolutely nothing. Finally, when she was about to leave the room and call the doctor, Soul stopped her. "Just say whatever it is you're thinking already."

She froze, back stiffening. Heather turned on her heel, brown eyes sparking. "That's it? That's _all_ you have to say to me? What the hell is your problem! What have you been doing these past ten years? We all thought you were _dead_!"

"I'm sorry?" She took an angry step toward him, looking very much like she wanted to slap him, hospitalized or no. Soul held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I have no idea who you or those people you're talking about are."

Heather stared at him, before running a hand down her face. "Are you being serious? Jesus, Soul, do you know how much your mother cried—how much your brother cried when you just disappeared one night? They hired so many detectives, filed a national missing person's report. Then you just go and show up here, with a fake name and a mysterious, not to mention half _dead_, girl under suspicious circumstances. What have you been doing?"

It was way too much information all at once for him to process. His name was actually Soul, he apparently had a mother and a brother, and for some reason this girl seemed to be almost personally upset that he had just disappeared without telling her. He was very confused. "I'm really sorry, but I don't have any memory of anything you're talking about."

"And that's just the thing, Soul," she exclaimed. Heather rifled around in the file she held in her hand, pulling out a scan of his brain and putting it up on the light-up board. Angrily, she flipped the switch and it hummed to life. "There's no medical reason you don't remember anything. You don't have any damage to any section of your brain; in fact it's all in really good working order."

"I—"

"So, what I want to know is what happened to you?"

"Honestly, I have—" He bent over in pain, clutching at his head. A slit-pupiled eye, a cruel smile. The road stretching unendingly in front of him. Folk music pounding out of speakers. The slam of a palm angrily against the steering wheel. Yelled accusing words, stuttered apologies. Soul faintly heard yelling, felt someone shaking his shoulder, calling for help. When he opened his eyes again, he was staring up into the concerned face of a salt-and-peppered haired doctor. His head no longer felt like it was going to split open, and in fact, he felt really good. Felt better than good, actually.

Goofy smile stretching his face, he reached up and patted the man on the face. "Hiya, doc, how you doin' this fine morning?"

The doctor sighed in relief. "You're going to be fine, son." His voice was fainter when he turned and talked to Heather, but still understandable. "He's gonna be okay, Heather. I don't know what happened just now, but it looks like it was just a fluke. Just let him rest for now. We'll monitor his situation tonight, and if nothing else happens, let's move him to a regular room and start him on physical therapy." Soul didn't catch much more of the conversation before he fell back into a medicated sleep.

He was groggy when he awoke again. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he jumped and yelled when he saw the kid sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Soul clutched his heart and glared at him. "Jesus, who let you in here?"

"We need to talk, Soul."

"Yeah, you got that right. I have a couple 'a questions for you, dude. First of all, who the hell are you?"

"I am Azrael, an angel of the lord."

"Yeah, sure, kid, and I'm the grim reaper." He paused, considering, before leaning in, red eyes shining. "I'm not the grim reaper, am I?"

Soul liked the way the name Kid rolled easily off the tongue (or, at least, easier than the kid), and almost subconsciously decided to begin referring to the angel as such; besides, it was a more socially acceptable name than Azrael. Kid tilted his head and raised a brow. "No, you are not Death." When Soul appeared disappointed, Azrael was even more confused. "I am…sorry to disappoint? But, Soul, we have urgent matters we need—"

"Hey!" A sharp voice from the doorway startled the two men. A nurse stood there, hands on her hips, an expression of extreme disapproval on her stern face. "Who are you, and how'd you get in here?"

Soul and the angel looked at each other, eyes wide. Then Soul gave the kid a shit-eating grin before schooling his expression into one of shock. "I have no idea who he is, ma'am. He was in my room when I woke up; I think he was watching me sleep!"

The nurse narrowed her eyes at the angel, marching up to him and grabbing his arm. "Alright, pervert, I think you better leave."

Azrael gaped at Soul, stuttering explanations. As the nurse pulled him out of the room, he glared at the white haired man. "Soul! Tell her the truth!"

"See ya, Kid!" Soul called triumphantly, waggling his fingers at the angel's retreating form. He settled back on the flat pillows with a sigh, massaging his now-throbbing temples. He recalled the flash of light and the shadow of large, extended wings framing the form of the kid. His eyes flew open. The kid was actually an angel. "Shit."

At three o'clock in the afternoon, a nurse pushing an empty wheelchair came into his room. He introduced himself as Mark, and told Soul that they were going to be moving him to a regular room, and he would be starting physical therapy soon after the move. After depositing Soul in his new room on the sixth floor, the nurse told him that if he needed anything, he would be right down the hallway and just to push the little button. After Mark left, Soul checked out his new room. Somehow, he had managed to score a spacious single room with a window, something almost unheard of he was sure. He wondered why he was getting special treatment. But he wasn't concerned for long as he spotted the TV in the corner and the remote control laying on the nightstand. Soul decided he could get used to this as he settled back with a sigh and clicked on the television. He surfed through the channels blissfully for a few minutes before he was interrupted by a nasally voice.

"Soul."

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, jumping in surprise. "Will you quit friggin' doing that, Kid? And how the hell do you keep getting in here."

"Please do not call the nurses on me again, Soul. That was quite unpleasant."

"Yeah, well, you deserved it, you douchenugget," Soul muttered childishly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

Kid ignored his insult, and Soul wasn't even sure he understood it."Please, Soul. We need to talk. It's urgent, and it involves you and Maka." Soul looked up at the sound of her name, and the angel held up a calming hand. "She's alright—well, as alright as one can expect, considering. The doctor's are fixing her up. Nothing serious."

Soul sighed in relief, and then glared at the angel. "Look, why didn't you do anything to fix her up? If you really are an angel or whatever, then you should be able to heal people. It's kind of in your job description."

"Not in mine," he said, expression remorseful. "I can take life and deal injuries, but I cannot give it or heal afflictions."

"Oh. Rough gig you've got, Kid."

"Yes, well, it's not all bad. Now, do you remember anything from before last night? Anything about Medusa and her plan? Perhaps where she is now? Even if it seems insignificant, it would help a lot."

"I don't even know who you're talking about. Who the hell is Medusa?"

The angel got to his feet in distress, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced. He kept shooting Soul looks, as though he were a particularly frustrating puzzle. Just as suddenly as he stood up, Kid sat back down again, folding his hands primly in his lap. "We were worried this would happen when Arachne completed the transformation."

"Excuse me? What transformation?"

"Yours, of course," he stated, tone implying that he thought Soul a slow-witted child. Catching the mounting frustration in the man, he sighed again. "Arachne did us a favor by completing the ritual that would return your soul to your original form, releasing it from its temporary housing in the 1967 Toronado owned by Maka Albarn."

"I'm sorry," Soul began with a half laugh of disbelief, "Did you just say I was a fucking _car_? Clearly you're mistaken." His voice broke off as his head gave a sharp pain again, and he folded over, clutching it. He felt two fingers on his forehead, before he lost all awareness of things around him, replaced by the endless road before him. Ringing laughter from the girl curled up with a book in the backseat. The slam of the trunk and familiar _tchk-tchk _of a shotgun being cocked. An off-key voice singing along with the twanging words on the radio. Loud swearing after the clack of a phone flipped shut. The roaring of the engine as the pedal was pushed to the floorboard.

Soul was gasping as he came back to the present. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, fingers digging into his skull. He felt a cool hand on his shoulder, and looked up into reassuring yellow eyes. When he spoke, his voice was small, revealing how young he felt at the moment. "You aren't lying, are you? I was an actual car. Dammit."

"I am sorry, Soul, that you were subjected to that. We were taken by surprise when Medusa changed you. I'm afraid it was quite beyond our expertise and knowledge. We theorize that it was some spell that she invented herself. It dissipated your body and trapped your soul in the car."

"Why? Why would she do something like this? Why me?"

"She needed you. Needed nothing to happen to you, needed you to not be able to run away. She made her first mistake when she entrusted you to that werewolf, but that is not important right now. Are you telling me that you don't remember anything from when you were a car, or before she put her spell on you?"

"No! I already told you, I can't remember anything from before. I mean, I only get flashes of memories, and they don't really make any sense at all. It hurts, Kid. It hurts to remember."

The angel looked at him compassionately. "I know. I'm sorry for having to ask you to do this, I really am, Soul. Arachne must have put up a wall between you and your memories. I believe she may have done it unintentionally, but there may have been an actual reason. All we can hope is that as your memories return, they do not harm you in any lasting way." Kid got to his feet and moved to the window, looking out over the streets of New York City. He appeared to be looking much further than that, Soul noticed.

"You're being cryptic," he drawled. The angel snapped his head up and gave a little apologetic smile. Kid had just started to respond when his eyes opened wide and he disappeared, leaving Soul spluttering at nothing. A nurse came in, asking him what was the matter, and the white haired man just sighed, running his hand down over his face.

Two sweaty, exhausting hours later, Soul could walk the length of the physical therapy room two whole times, with the aid of his walker. It was mortifying for him, a twenty-four year old man (at least that was the age his ID card told him he was), having to use a walker like he was some fucking decrepit senior citizen, and it was perplexing for the doctors, because there was no medical reason they could come up with that explained his sudden loss of basic knowledge. He remembered how to speak and that the toilet was a normal part of polite society, but he couldn't remember how to walk or feed himself. Soul wasn't going to let that stop him, though; he was determined that he would get better before Maka was cleared to leave the hospital. No way was she going to leave him here with bills out his ass and a bunch of apparently relieved family and friends he didn't remember anything about. He had a vague concept of other people who looked kind of like the man he saw in the mirror when he brushed his teeth, but beyond that…nada.

As Soul frowned down at the shredded plastic fibers of his toothbrush, he worried about Maka, the only person he remembered. And he knew very little besides the kind of music she would blast out of her (his? He didn't fuckin' know anymore) speakers while driving too fast down too dark highways and back roads. No one in this whole damn building would tell him anything about the feisty woman besides that she was stable. Stable? He didn't like that word. From what he gathered by watching bad daytime doctor soaps and only slightly better evening hospital shows, someone was stable when the doctors had just brought them back from the dead, and they seemed to be in no threat of kicking the bucket at that moment. But when he yelled that into the expressionless faces of her doctors, they told him to please stop being unreasonable. Soul thought he was being exceedingly reasonable, given the circumstances, but apparently he didn't know anything.

He scoffed and spat the nasty paste into the sink, throwing the now-ruined toothbrush into the little garbage under the sink. Soul ran his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth, wondering if they were genetically possible. He had heard some of the nurses whispering about cosmetic surgery and oh, my God, they couldn't believe that someone would actually do that to themselves, and did you hear about that lizard guy in _Ripley's Believe It or Not_ who did the same thing, do you think this guy is trying to be like lizard man, how weird! They made him want to punch someone in the throat, but some part of him, the part that housed manners too deeply ingrained to be erased by merely having your body dissipated and soul shoved into a new home, told him that throat punches were not acceptable in polite society.

Soul was in the middle of giving his particularly sharp eye tooth an experimental poke when a voice from the doorway made him jump, swearing as he sliced into his finger. He turned, and glared at the angel, who was standing with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, one eyebrow raised. "The fuck is your problem, feather face?" Soul shoved his freely bleeding finger into Kid's face. "See this? This is what happens when you do that stupid Huodini act. Learn to fuckin' knock, would you?" he pouted, running water over his finger and wrapping it in a wad of toilet paper.

"Would you like a bandage?" was the polite response he received to his complaints. When he turned back to Kid, he was met with a slightly-crumpled, but still wrapped, Band-Aid. "Apparently my vessel liked to be prepared; he kept a pocket-sized first-aid kit in the inside pocket of his suit coat, see?" The angel unbuttoned his coat, pulling out a bag of basic medical supplies.

"Well, I'll be damned," Soul said, nodding in appreciation as he took the Band-Aid. "Wait—did you say your vessel? So this," he gestured to the teenage boy body, "is, like, your meatsuit? You don't actually look like this?" Kid nodded. "Man, that's a relief. Tell me your real appearance is way cooler than this…whatever it is."

"I do not believe you would find it as aesthetically pleasing. My true form has four faces and is covered with as many tongues and eyes as there are humans on this planet."

As the angel's words sunk in, Soul started gagging. "You serious? Dude, that's fucked up."

"Yes, I thought you would react that way. I'm not considered the most attractive of my brothers—"

"Shocker," Soul interrupted. "But at least in your true form, you don't have those weird-ass stripes in your hair." It would be an understatement to say that Soul was surprised with the way the angel reacted to what was supposed to be a joking comment. Kid turned abruptly and put his fist through the wall, creating a resounding crash that brought the nurses running. They pounded on the door, yelling questions about whether or not he was okay and what happened, while Kid put his head between his knees, hyperventilating and muttering that he was "garbage, absolute, unsymmetrical garbage." If Soul hadn't known for a fact that some pretty weird shit was going on, he would have thought that he was on one of those undercover prank shows.

He kneeled next to Kid, awkwardly putting his hand on the angel's shoulder. "Hey, Kid, I know you're having a breakdown right now, but do you think you could do that thing where you disappear? The nurses are gonna lose their shit again if they see you." Soul didn't see Kid do anything, but he heard something like the rustling of papers, and then there wasn't anything under his hand. It was friggin' cool, and Soul was more than a little jealous that he couldn't disappear on command. Then he could pull a Houdini trick of his own and not have to deal with the likely pissy nurses. He rolled his eyes and pulled the bathroom door open, using the counter to support himself.

After smoothing things over with the irate orderlies, he wandered aimlessly through the hallways of the hospital, lurking outside doorways and observing visiting families and friends to try and understand how ordinary people interacted, until he was forced to go back his room lest he "wear himself out." It was late afternoon of the next day when he was finally admitted into Maka's room. Since he was neither family nor spouse to one Anna Brown, the hospital wouldn't allow him to visit her while she was in intensive care, but once she was deemed stable enough to be moved to a normal room, he could see her between the hours of noon and six. It took all of his patience and suspension of self-respect as he lowered himself to alternately cajoling and badgering, but finally Soul worked Maka's room number out of the stubborn nurses. He was out the door and heading toward it as fast as his walker and stumbling steps would allow, not even bothering to throw a thanks over his shoulder.

Right after he barged through the door, Soul froze, not prepared for the woman appearing so small, nestled among the pillows and wires. The last time he had seen Maka, she had been as large and fierce as a giant, defiantly standing up to one of the big name monsters. He closed his eyes and braced himself on the door frame, briefly regretting leaving his walker in his room as his knees shook. Eyes squinched shut, a little voice whispered in his ear, telling him that this, all of it, was entirely his fault. He had fucked up big time, and Maka was paying for it. At that moment, as he stood in the doorway of the hospital room, he vowed in the depths of his heart that he would never let anything else hurt her, even if it cost him his life. It would be worth it; at least she did something to help others. What did he do? Cause problems and injuries everywhere he went? This blonde, who so cheerfully defied the stereotypes of her gender and hair color, was more valuable in the greater scheme of things than he was.

Soul click-clacked his way across the room to the chair near her bed and settled himself in it with a quiet groan. Even that small noise was enough to alert her hunter-honed senses and jerk her out of sleep. Maka tried to sit up, but gasped in pain and clutched her midsection, collapsing back into the pillows. Soul immediately reached out and attempted to help her, and, for his efforts, received a blood-chilling glare and a sharp exclamation.

"You! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I—" His mouth flapped like a fish gasping for air, unable to get out a comprehensible answer. Maka rolled her eyes.

"Not that I'm not glad you're alive; I am, trust me. Just—why are you here and not with your family. That's what you civs usually do." The amount of condescension and bitterness in her voice took him aback. She snapped a "what" in response to his furrowed brow and pitying look. But Soul simply shook his head and looked down at his hands clenched into fists on his lap. He remembered the times she would curl up on the smooth leather, a bottle of Captain clutched in one hand and a picture of her family in the other, quiet sobs filling the silence. In those moments, not even understanding the emotions that swelled in him, he would do the only thing he could to comfort her; turn on the radio and let soft piano music soothe her broken heart, the angry clashes of Schumann's Sonata in G minor echoing her chaotic emotions. He could, at times, when he snuck glances at her when she wasn't watching, see parts of that girl, hidden just behind the careful wall of her green eyes.

A small breeze lifted a few strands of her hair, and she looked around in confusion. Out from behind one of the room divider curtains stepped Kid. Soul found himself thinking that in comparison with the greeting that Maka gave the angel, his was downright friendly. The hunter literally snarled, lip pulling back from teeth and fingers flying to her thigh in search for her pistol. "I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from me, you sick bastard."

Kid held his hands up in a sign of peace. "Please, Maka, just hear me out. I am not one of your foes." At her expression he sighed and rubbed both hands down his face, exactly twice and at the same speed. Soul watched the angel's OCD take over with interest, until Kid brought him into the discussion. "If you do not believe me, then please, inquire as to my validity with Soul. He will tell you the truth."

"Now, I don't think that's a very good idea," Soul said at the same time Maka pointed her finger at him and near about shrieked,

"_Him_? Is he the one you're talking about? I don't know him from Adam! Why is his word supposed to hold credibility with me?"

The angel cleared his throat suddenly looking very uncomfortable. "Ah, I was getting there, I assure you." Soul groaned and buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a disaster, he just knew it. "Well, you are honestly much more familiar with him that you currently believe yourself to be."

Maka's head whipped around to stare incredulously at Soul. Her eyes were not friendly in any sense of the word as she folded her arms and glared at him. He studiously ignored her, picking at his short, blunt nails. "Do tell," the hunter said in a flat voice.

Clasping his hand together behind him, Kid turned on his heel and began pacing the room in measured steps as he thought on how to word his announcement just right. He had a suspicion that Maka wouldn't be as open as Soul was to believing the truth. The angel ignored Maka's impatient heckles, going over his phrasing meticulously, ensuring that every word he chose would have the most impact. He briefly considered taking them back to the day that Soul was changed, but, as he glanced quickly over at the man's hunched form, he figured the probable consequences far outweighed the potential benefits. The angel's heels clicked together when he stopped and faced the two humans.

"Please attempt to keep an open mind while I am explaining this; I know it can be difficult for you, but just bear with me for five minutes. My name is Azrael, and I truly am an angel of the Lord." She opened her mouth to protest, but Kid held up his hand and she fell silent, glaring daggers at the angel. "I've heard your prayers, Maka. You want to believe, so have a little faith. But for the moment, let's ignore that and return to the matter at hand. You do know Soul, and have for the past eight years. I believe you would have considered him your closest companion."

Maka looked over at Soul, who offered a sheepish smile, making sure to keep his teeth hidden from view. Baby steps, he thought, quickly breaking eye contact with the hunter. "Impossible. I've never seen this civ in my life—before saving him from Arachne."

"Perhaps not in this particular form," the angel shrugged. "With a complicated spell, Arachne's sister witch, known around Hell as Medusa, stole a young man's soul, dissolved his body, and stored both in an old 1967 Oldsmobile Toronado. We showed up at the scene too late; when we got there, the gentleman was beyond our reach. So, we decided we had to wait patiently, watch the activities of Medusa and her cronies so when, if, they decided to change him back, we could save him before they put their plans into action. All was going according to our plan—until suddenly the car fell off the grid. I believe October 21, 2000 and a small town in Michigan will sound familiar to you?"

The hunter stiffened, shoulders going back defensively, and hands clenching the worn sheets. Her eyes lost their focus for a moment, as though just the mention of the date could take her back to what Soul instinctively knew she considered one of the worst nights of her life. "Go on, angel." Maka's voice was low and threatening, like a warning growl from a cornered lioness, and she managed to make the title, usually connected with holiness and purity, sound like an insult.

"Yes, alright. Well, that night, we lost the track of the car, as though someone had hidden it from our sight. The werewolf you and your mother left behind didn't know much more than we did, so all of our efforts on that front were wasted." Soul shivered at the cold tone of the angel's voice, not needing any more clues to figure out what Kid meant. "We were lost and had just given up hope that we would ever find him when, three nights ago, our luck returned. I was sent to investigate, and was pleasantly surprised by what I found there; not only was the car turned back into a man, but one of our primary foes was there as well! It was quite the lucky break. I believe you know what occurred from that point on."

Maka was quiet for a few moments, mentally sorting through all of the information the angel had given her, trying to isolate the facts and put them in chronological order. "So…you're telling me that—that _my car_ wasn't stolen, and is in fact, _this_ useless piece of humanity?" Kid nodded slowly, and the hunter threw her head back and laughed. "Fuckin' beautiful."

Soul was honestly a little offended by her reaction. "You believe him?" he asked hesitantly. She shrugged in response, wincing and rubbing her stomach.

"Not in the least bit," Maka deadpanned. She shot the angel a sidelong glance, mouth twitching in a smirk. Kid huffed and stalked over to the window. His posture was rigid and Soul could _feel_ the frustration rolling off of him in waves. If Maka was just toying with the celestial being, Soul had a hunch that she would eventually come to regret the decision.

"What will it take for me to make you believe me?"

"How about an explanation?" She asked, raising one eyebrow as though the angel were stupid. "Such as, why the hell Medusa picked _him_," Maka jerked her thumb at Soul. "What does she need him for? Also, why would his life story matter to me? I really don't give a damn about it; I just want him out of my hair."

Tense silence permeated the room for a few minutes. Maka was casually picking at a hangnail and glancing over at the angel every now and then. Suddenly, Kid's shoulders relaxed, and when he turned back to face them, he was smiling a cruel inhuman smirk. "I do not have to explain myself to something so miniscule as you humans. I am a superior being. In fact, I find it very endearing that you believe you have the option to not believe me. You do not wish to upset the angel of death…do you?"

She inhaled sharply and eyed him with distrust. "Are you threatening me, Azrael?"

"Yes, I do believe I am. There is more at stake than your hubris, Maka. I suggest you use the extraordinarily large brain that God gifted you with and do some conceptual thinking to understand the bigger picture."

Her lip curled. Maka opened her mouth to snap something back at the angel, but Soul got to his feet and interrupted her. "Threats aren't necessary, Kid. She doesn't need to—"

"No, it's fine, dude. Whatever. It doesn't really make much of a difference whether or not feather brain over there is lying because I apparently don't have a choice in believing him. Although I'm not entirely sure why it makes a difference," she shot another glare at Kid. "If Medusa's after you, rotten luck, man, but as far as I'm concerned, I'm through with you. My advice to you is to go back to your family and life you had before-well, before whatever happened to you occured-while you still can. It's a win-lose situation, I know, but get used to it; the rest of the world has."

"But—"

"Listen, you really don't have to thank me. Just go be happy with your loved ones; that's the only thanks I need."

Kid cleared his throat and both the humans turned to look at him, identical expressions of annoyed frustration on their faces. "I'm glad you're willing to see things my way, Maka. However, I am not finished. It has been decided by Heaven that you will watch over Soul, keep him safe from Medusa and her followers, for we believe now that he has been reverted, Medusa will stop at nothing to get her hands on him. Also, I expect you to do so without complaint."

Very reluctantly, Maka agreed, glaring at Soul while she nodded. "I'm not sure how much I will be able to do in my current condition, though. The doctors told me I had internal bleeding they had to do surgery to fix, and that I should lay low for awhile."

"I'm not completely helpless," Soul said, but both angel and hunter ignored him. They were deep in discussion of medical terms far beyond the meager education the media had given him. Rolling his eyes, Soul got to his feet, using the arms of the chair to push himself up. His legs were getting a little sore but he wanted to exercise some more so he was able to leave when Maka decided it was time to go. Since he was recovering rapidly, he was able to walk the length of the hospital without the help of the walker he had been so dependent on earlier.

It was quiet in this section of the hospital; no emergencies or people dying, just the soothing chatter of people visiting friends and family. He had been there long enough that he didn't even notice the sterile smell of the place, though he was sure he wouldn't be able to get the stink off of him for a long time. Soul stopped at the water fountain tucked into a nook a few rooms down from Maka's, and was just bending down to take a drink when he heard a familiar voice chatting happily. It was a rumbling voice, one that came from deep in the chest and exuded comfort; it sounded like the way the pilots on the television shows sounded.

"…and you'll never believe what Heather—you remember Heather, right, Gran?—said just this morning. She said Soul was still alive!"

Soul's heart jumped at the mention of his name. Surely it couldn't be him this man was talking about, could it? It had to be some sort of freak coincidence. Teeth digging into the soft flesh of his cheek, Soul tip-toed his way to the open door of the room. He took a deep breath before peeking around the door jamb. His stomach dropped to his feet at what he saw.

The room itself was a private one with a gorgeous view overlooking the city. Flowers piled on almost every available surface filled the room with a sweet fragrance and gave it a homey feel. But that wasn't what terrified him. It was the tousled white hair, the deep tanned skin, and edge of sharp cheekbones and pointy nose, all much like his own features, that made his heart thud to a stop. The man was still talking excitedly, hands waving through the air as he described the story to the frail older woman in the bed. Soul could see her face clearly, and, despite the wrinkles and lines, she had the same bone structure and coloring as both the man sitting at her bedside and the one lurking in the hallway.

The woman's hands were clasped on her chest and her expression could be described as nothing other than pure elation as a tear leaked from one of her eyes. Her face was suited to smiles, Soul decided, looking at the deep crow's feet and the mischievous tilt to her eyebrows. "Little Soul is still with us?" She whispered, reaching out and clutching her grandson's hand. Her voice lilted and fell with a thick French accent. "I always knew that God wouldn't let such a wonderful human being pass. Oh, Wesley!"

The woman couldn't say anymore, too overcome by joy as she collapsed into the man's embrace. He held her tightly, and Soul could see the man's thin frame shake with what he thought could only be tears. But then he heard laughter, quick with little hiccups interspersed throughout. A sharp pain shot through Soul's head, and clutching it, he fell to his knees. He knew that laugh. Remembered a playground surrounded by high, decorative bushes. On the swings, a teenage boy had his head thrown back, feet stretching toward the sky. A pang of fear as the boy launched himself from the swing at a height that couldn't be safe, he was sure, and crying out when the boy landed and immediately rolled forward, collapsing on his back in laughter. The same laughter, a little higher and freer, but with the same unmistakable hiccups.

Through the clouds of his recollections, he heard movement and the man's—Wesley, his brother, he knew now—voice growing louder as he approached the door. Panicking, Soul scrambled to his feet, fingers scrabbling at the wall for help. He took off down the hall at a limping run, leaving his family and past behind him, unable to bring himself to face them right now. Soul heard his brother call out a confused "hello" behind him, but he never stopped running. He stumbled his way down the rarely used stairs, tripping in his hurry. Gasping, he ducked into the first restroom he passed and immediately locked himself in a stall.

His head was still pounding, and he was having troubles discerning what was past and what was present. It was as though some amateur photoshop artist had superimposed a bright sunny day over the white of the hospital, and he didn't know if he was walking on pine mulch or freckled tile. Soul sank into a crouch, leaning his head back against the stall wall and taking deep measured breaths, in though his nose, out through his mouth. Thoughts rattled through his mind, muddled and wound together. He felt something warm run down his face and worried that he had bumped his head against something without noticing and was now bleeding. But when he reached up and touched it, clinging to a calloused fingertip was a clear drop—it was a tear. Soul Eater, runaway-turned-car-turned-amnesiac, was crying.

He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to sob.

It was all too much, too quickly. Some A-level monster was out for his ass, the woman he had spent the past eight years of his life with currently resented his very existence, he apparently had an elderly and dying Grandmother and an older brother, both of whom had worried about him for the past ten years, so Heather had said, and, to top it all off, Arachne had Frankenstein's-monster-meets-shark-boy-ed him into this—this—this _thing_.

"Self pity is not very attractive, Soul."

Soul jumped in surprise, not even bothering wiping his face as he glared toward where the angel's voice came from on the other side of the stall door. "Go fuck yourself with a cactus, you feathered freak."

"I am going to pretend that I did not hear that. We saw you go stumbling past and were concerned. Maka sent me to find you. Will you come out of your own volition or do I have to go in there and drag you out?"

"I don't want to be part of this anymore," Soul mumbled, hugging his knees to his chest.

He heard an annoyed sigh come from the angel. "You petulant child. Don't you understand that this is all so much bigger than your petty wants and desires? We are talking about the end of the world, so I suggest you take these eight seconds I am going to give you and resign yourself to the fact that you have no choice, okay? One—two—"

Soul closed his eyes, intending to stay on the bathroom floor and ignore the angel entirely. Before Kid reached eight, the stall door blew open and Soul's arm was trapped in the boy's iron grip. He felt the same jerk and disembodied sensation, and then he was standing in Maka's room once again. Noticing he was in full view of the door, Soul crossed the room as quickly as he could and, after surreptitiously checking the hallway and making sure it was clear, closed the large door quietly. When he turned back to the room, he was greeted by two pairs of eyes, one a deep green and looking slightly concerned for his sanity, the other gold and bored.

"I suppose you are not going to explain why you just did that," Maka said slowly, one eyebrow raised. Soul was surprised to note that she was standing, detached from her tubes and wires, and once again wearing her muck covered jeans, flannel shirt, and long trench coat. She was gripping the bar on the bed for support, and one arm was held close to her body in a sling, but she was standing nonetheless.

"I suppose you're not going to explain why you're out of bed," was his clever reply.

The hunter rolled her eyes. "Actually, I was. It has come to my attention that there are some undesirables in this hospital, ones who would not understand the situation that we are in. I know a doctor who is much better than the ones here, and so I am checking us both out early. Azrael here is going to help us."

Soul groaned, rubbing his temples. "Not more of Kid's magic disappearing tricks."

"No complaints, Soul Eater. Unless you're going to somehow come up with thousands of dollars to cover both our hospital fees, plus my checkups, and," Maka grinned and held up a bag of little orange tubes, "drugs. So, we're gonna duck outta here early and you're going to keep quiet and let me do the talking when we get to our destination."

Thinking back to his grandmother's spacious and private hospital room, and the quality of the suit his brother had been wearing, he almost told her that he didn't think money would be a problem. But instead, he simply held his hands up in surrender, and Maka looked over at Kid. "So, if you'll do the honors?" The angel nodded, put his hands on their shoulders, and then they were gone. Both blinked and when their eyes opened again, they were standing in the middle of a half-full parking lot in the desert, staring at an elegant building claiming itself to be "Starcrossed."


	3. Chapter 3: Starcrossed Lovers

**Chapter Three: Starcrossed Lovers**

Maka inhaled the warm, dry air and smiled. She loved coming back to her home state, especially after being on the east coast during winter. The climate of the east was always too humid and cold for her tastes. She preferred the desert conditions of Nevada; just one whiff of the smell of dust and drought took her back to her childhood, when she had stayed just briefly in the area. She had made her first friend here. He always gave her a hard time when she stumbled back into his roadhouse after a long separation, but Blake Starre, hyperactive and dangerous though he was, forgave quickly. Blake would envelop her in a hug and push her to the bar where his wife Tsubaki already had a shot of whiskey set out, waiting for her. Together, the three friends would toss back their preferred poison, and it would seem as though they had never been separated.

The sound of coughing brought her attention from the dusty building in front of her back to the cause of all of her current problems. After a fleeting moment of concern, Maka rolled her eyes. The idiot was choking on _dust_ of all things. The hunter refused to be held accountable if Soul died from pure, unadulterated stupidity. Demons and ghosts and monsters she could deal with, but how could she save this moronic menace from himself?

Maka turned to Kid to tell him her thoughts on the matter, and was annoyed that he was no longer there. "Bastard," she muttered, shoving a hand in the pocket of her trench coat. Pain shot through her abdomen and the hunter sighed. She wasn't sure she could make it across the parking lot and into the bar alone, which meant she was going to have to rely on Soul, something that put a bad taste in her mouth. He gave off the aura of the kind of man that pissed her right off—unreliable, rude, and more likely to flirt with the next thing with tits up to her neck than to watch his partner's back. The kind of man her father had been.

"Soul." He jumped and turned to face her, trying to discreetly wipe his nose with his sleeve. The man raised an eyebrow in response and she sighed. "I need your help. I don't think I can make it."

His red eyes stared blankly at her before suddenly lighting up with understanding. "Oh! Right, sure." Soul gingerly grabbed her elbow with one hand and, hesitating before taking the plunge, wrapped a supporting arm around her middle. She was stiff with discomfort, every particle of her being screaming at her for allowing someone like him so near to her.

Beggars can't be choosers, though, so she simply mumbled her thanks instead. Together, they took small, shuffling steps across the dusty parking lot. Maka noted that there weren't many cars there; in fact, it appeared as though it was only Blake's souped-up pick up, Tsu's sleek Corvette, and Dr. Stein's sorry excuse for a car, which was more of a moving pile of patched-together pieces of various automobiles than a real vehicle. She curled her lip as she remembered the one and only time she had ridden in the death trap. Stein drove far too fast and had a far too powerful engine for such a shoddily put together machine. The doors and windows had rattled in their frames, and Maka had been sure that the welding wasn't going to hold. Thankfully, the car had made it to the destination in one piece, but she had refused the doctor's offer for a ride home, opting instead to walk back to the motel.

"So," Soul began, breathing heavily from the exertion of towing both of their bodies to the roadhouse. "Where exactly are we?"

"An old friend's place. Needle, Nevada, to be precise. Dinky town in the middle of nowhere, basically." Maka gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Safest place for us to be right now."

"And are these people, these friends of yours, are they…like you?"

"Are you asking if they're hunters?" Soul nodded. The old glory days with Blake and Tsubaki, when they were still in their prime, believing they were invincible, flashed through Maka's mind. Lips flattening, she glared at the dust swirling around their shuffling feet, trying to bury the resurfaced memories. "They used to be."

The two fell back into silence. The hunter was thankful that Soul wasn't completely oblivious and had understood the note of finality in her voice. Together, they took the last few steps to the roadhouse, feeling as though they were completing a journey of self-discovery, which, in a way, they were.

The door creaked when Maka pushed it open, like a scene straight out of a horror movie. When they stepped into the cool relief of the building, both were surprised to find it was empty. Maka wondered what time it was, realizing that she hadn't bothered to check something so insignificant when the freakin' angel of death was threatening her soul. For Maka, the scents of Starcrossed, stale alcohol and a faint fragrance of flowers, smelled as much like home as the warm, dusty air outside. She saw the way Soul's nose crinkled slightly at the odor, and the observation of what was truthfully a natural reaction did nothing to endear the man to her.

"Hello?" Maka called out, her voice echoing in the bar room. She heard feet pounding down the stairs in the back and smiled slightly. The door exploded outward and standing framed there was Blake, muscular arms outstretched in preparation for a hug and face split in a huge grin. As he took in the sight before him, however, the man's face quickly morphed into one of grave concern. Blake was across the room in three very large strides, yelling loudly over his shoulder for his wife to get "that freak of a doctor."

The glare he gave Soul was cautious and measuring. "You a friend?"

Soul hesitated, glancing at Maka for support in the situation. She shrugged. "Sort of?"

Blake grunted, sending him one more look of hesitant calculation before tilting his head toward one of the tables. "Let's get you two over there. Neither of you look like you're fit to be standing right now." The group managed an awkward dance over to the table and both Soul and Maka settled into the hard wooden chairs with sighs of relief. Very gently, Blake grabbed Maka by the upper arms, bending slightly so he could look into her eyes. "Hey, Pig Tails, what'd you get yourself into this time?"

Soul's mouth quirked up at the nickname, and Maka tried to split her glare equally between the two men. Though the name no longer applied to the feisty blonde, and hadn't since she was sixteen and had stopped wearing her hair up in two tails, Blake refused to let it die. She pretended it bothered her, but in truth, it was always a bit of a relief when he used it, reminding her that there were people who still cared about her.

"What about you, Starre," she pouted, gesturing to his mess of neon blue hair. "Blue? Really?"

"I did try and convince him not to do it, but you know how he can get sometimes, Maka." The newcomer's voice, though it held a faint hint of an accent, was as soft and gentle as her large eyes as she gazed affectionately down upon the pair. She was tall and willowy, looking more like a ballet dancer than a woman who used to slaughter nightmares for a living . A little girl of about four or five clung to the woman's leg, peering curiously out from behind. On the girl's head was perched a witch's pointed hat, elaborately decorated to look like a chameleon. "The doctor is coming down now."

"Tsubaki!" Maka cried out, face lighting up in a smile. She noticed the girl seconds after the woman and looked down at her, eyes crinkled around the corners. "Who's this? I didn't know you two were looking to adopt."

The woman, Tsubaki, shuffled her way forward, making faces at her husband when the girl wouldn't let go of her leg. "It was sort of an unexpected thing. Sorry, she's a bit shy." Tsubaki crouched and put her arm around the girl's shoulder. "This is Angie; Angie, this is your Aunt Maka."

Angie looked Maka over with intelligent eyes, making connections and appearing to be memorizing the woman. She apparently noticed the way Maka sat hunched over, arm not trapped in a sling wrapped gingerly around her midsection. "Is she okay, Tsu?"

"Actually, we were just discussing that," Blake said, turning back to the two newcomers. "We don't hear anything from you for, like, a month, and then out of nowhere, you show up with a stranger, decrepit and injured. Explain yourself."

Maka opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by someone clearing his throat. The group jumped in surprise, and both Maka and Blake's hands flew to their waistbands, looking for weapons that weren't there. Maka's brows furrowed; she had dropped her machete in the alley, and she was sure neither Soul nor Azrael had remembered to grab it before taking them to the hospital. Towering above the group was a scarred man in a patched lab coat. Madly curious eyes glinted from behind oval rimless glasses, and the smile that curved up the doctor's face said he'd like it very much if they would let him dissect them.

Soul stiffened in the chair next to her, and Maka smiled slightly. The doctor often had that effect on people, however, having grown up with the man, Maka had no problem with him. He was about as much a father figure to her as her own father was. Sometimes, she wondered how she grew up to be as normal as she was, what with the eccentric influences she had had when she was younger. She supposed it was just another thing she had to be grateful to her mother for.

"Stein!" Maka exclaimed, grin stretching across her face.

Matching her smile in a gruesome mimicry of hers, scars stretching unnaturally with the expression, Doctor Frank N. Stein pulled a chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, "Maka, it's been too long. Tell me what happened."

Maka shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. Her wince gave her away though, and Tsubaki made a concerned noise in the back of her throat, hands fluttering about uncertainly. The blonde sighed, running her free hand through her tangled hair. She really was a hot mess, wasn't she?

"Just the normal stuff, really. I got the vampire I was hunting, as well as the rest of his coven. It was a standard job, and went without a hitch, for the most part. But then I ran into him," she jerked her head over to Soul, "And the goddess Arachne."

Blake gasped, rocking forward on his chair. "No way! What was she doing in New York? I thought arachnes were usually only found in Greece."

"She had a reason to leave Greece, though I'm sure she wishes she never did. Not that she's wishing much of anything, nowadays." Maka's grin was feral as she recalled the way the angel had killed the goddess without breaking a sweat. She slapped a high five with a hooting Blake, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than she had in almost a month. "As for her reasons, well, that's a long story."

"Later," the doctor said, keen eyes trained on his two patients. Strange and obsessed with dissection as he was, he was serious and passionate about what he did. Stein was a phenomenal doctor, known throughout hunter circles as one of the best. "You've been to the hospital already, I see," he said, gesturing to Maka's sling and the splint just visible in the blue material. "What did they say?"

Maka gave him a sheepish smile. "Well, I was told I was stable, so I took that as a thumbs up, good to go, and checked myself out of there. I was sure you could do as well, if not better, than they did, and you do it for free."

"Sometimes," Blake interjected, scowling at the doctor. Tsubaki, having moved into the chair next to her husband, nudged him with her elbow. He grinned back at her, winking, and plucked Angie out of her lap. The little girl squealed as her hat was knocked awry, but quickly settled down again once it was returned to its proper position.

Maka smiled as she watched the interaction, unused to seeing such a tender side to her typically boisterous friend. She had known for a long time that he was a softie under his brash exterior, and she was glad that he met and married Tsubaki and, now, had Angie to raise and love for the rest of his life.

Catching Stein's raised brow, Maka's cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter as she prepared to give her report. "Two fractured ribs and a ruptured spleen, which has been stitched up already, and I was told as long as I was careful and didn't move very much for a few days, I would be alright. A broken wrist," she held up her left arm, "already splinted, though I was scheduled to have a cast put on in a couple of days. Severe bruising to the upper dorsal region, but no fractures I was told. Also, a concussion, which is giving me one hell of a headache right now, I'd like to say.

"Oh," she pulled the bottle of pills from her pocket, "I stole these from the hospital. It's the medication they said they were going to put me on. I don't know what your opinion is on the prescriptions, but here. Whatever I don't need, you can keep."

The doctor looked like Christmas had come early, and Maka gave him a fond smile as she tossed the bag to him. "Use them to come up with some super drug, okay? I'd like to take as few pills as possible."

He dumped the bottles out onto his lap, squinting at the tiny lettering on the labels. Some of the tubes he slipped into the pocket of his trademark lab coat, some he scribbled instructions on before handing back to her. "Vicodin will become your best friend while everything starts healing, and make sure to supplement it with an acetaminophen. This should help keep the swelling down and help with your concussion. I'm not going to tell you bed rest, because I know you won't listen to it—"

Blake snorted and Maka punched him in the shoulder.

"—But try to keep any twisting or lifting motions to a minimum, would you? Ask for help for once in your life. Beyond that, I don't have any more suggestions. If you have any concerns, you know you can ask me."

"Thanks, Stein." Maka turned to Soul, remembering that she wasn't the only one to have been in the hospital. "What about you? Did the doctors tell you anything?"

Shifting in his seat as four pairs of eyes focused on him, Soul rubbed the back of his neck. "Said they couldn't find any explanation for my memory loss. Mainly prescribed physical therapy to remember how to walk and stuff."

"Can someone explain to me where the heck you came from?" Blake asked, eyeing Soul with distrust once more. "I've never seen you before, and Maka doesn't do partners. So who are you?"

Soul turned to Maka for help, eyes wide and panicked.. Her head gave a particularly painful throb, and she closed her eyes for a second, ignoring Soul's distress. "Tsu, d'you have some Tylenol or anything?" The dark haired woman jumped to her feet. Seeing her leave, Angie squirmed her way out of Blake's lap and chased after Tsubaki, clutching her hand.

As they waited for Tsubaki to return, Stein leaned forward in his chair, examining Soul. He made an interested noise, reaching forward as though he wanted to touch the younger man.

"Uh, the fuck're you doing?" Soul asked, inching back away from the doctor.

"Yo, Stein, you're doing that thing again," Blake said. The doctor looked up, the light reflecting strangely off his glasses. It appeared as though it took him a minute to focus back on what the roadhouse owner was saying, but when he did, a slight smile carved its way across his face.

"Ah, my apologies," Stein said, straightening up in his chair while adjusting his glasses. He held a hand out in greeting, which Soul hesitantly took. "I'm afraid that my curiosity often gets the better of me."

"The fuck does that apply to me?"

"Is your coloring natural?"

Soul was at a loss for words for a second or two. Maka cracked an eye open, barely stopping herself from laughing as she watched his mouth flap open and closed while he tried to decide what to say. "I—Just—You—What?"

"Your coloring, your white hair and red eyes, are they natural?"

"Uh, I think so? I mean, my grandmother and brother looked just like me."

Stein's eyes widened, seeming to find Soul intriguing. "You must be among the outliers for OCA1b, although I've never heard of any cases with people being as tan as you are. And it doesn't seem as though you have any problems with your vision, which is another interesting fact. Your teeth are another strange feature; I've never seen the likes of them, if they're natural, of course. Hmm, you are quite a rare breed, aren't you …? I would very much like to discover what makes you—"

"Doctor Stein!" Tsubaki cut him off, her tone uncharacteristically sharp. Slowly, he moved his gaze from Soul to the tall woman just re-entering the room, glass of water held in one hand and pills in the other. Taking in her glare and raised eyebrow, Stein offered a sheepish smile.

Blake scoffed. "Sh-ugar, man." Seeing Angie was back in the room, the man modified his sentence at the last second. "With respect and all that garbage, you can't just go around to people asking if they'll let you perform an autopsy on them before they're even dead."

"It wouldn't be an autopsy if they're not dead yet, idiot," Maka said, rolling her eyes. Tsubaki apparently had decided the language being thrown around in the room was inappropriate for anyone not _this_ tall, because after she had handed the pills to Maka, who smiled her thanks, she grabbed Angie's hand and led her out through the back room. Maka heard muffled voices coming from behind the swinging door; the child was complaining loudly that she didn't _want_ to go play with her stupid dolls, she _wanted_ to be out there with Black Star (the three adults giggled at the little girl's pronunciation of Blake's name; he flipped them off but was smiling all the same) and Stein and everyone else!

Seeing Blake's expression, she leaned in and nudged his shoulder with her own. "How long?" She asked quietly, tilting her head the direction Tsubaki and Angie had left.

"About a month and a half now-little over a week after you left on the trail of that vamp."

She shuddered, grabbing her midsection with a wince. "Oh wow. Wanna tell me how?"

Blake shook his head, expression darkening. "That's a story for another day.; wouldn't want the tale of a big guy like me overshadowing your adventures." Eyeing Maka's injured form and Soul's slightly unfocused gaze, he amended his statement. "Or, misadventures, I should say. What exactly happened out there in New York? And I don't want to hear any of your bull shit that it was _just a typical hunt_." He did a poor imitation of her voice, fingers forming air quotes. "I know East Coasters have a reputation for being ruthless, but, damn, Maka, I haven't seen you this banged up since-shit, since you turned 21."

The lines around the blonde's eyes softened as she smiled at Blake and reached up with her good hand to ruffle his blue hair. This was the soft side of her friend that was shown only to a select group of people, of which she was honored to be included in. It was the side that she knew had been the tipping point for Tsubaki, and the side that made Maka absolutely positive Blake would be the best stand-in father Angie could ever hope for.

Cocky smirk back on his face, Blake raised an eyebrow, and Maka sighed, knowing it was back to business. "It's-well, it's not really a long story, but it's extremely convoluted and confusing, and I only know half of it." She glanced at Soul, surprised to see he was watching her, unreadable burgundy eyes peering out from beneath his mop of white hair. "Soul knows more about it than I do. I mean, I've already given you the annotated version, so maybe he could tell you more."

"Wha'?"

Maka rolled her eyes. "Look, if I'm going to be babysitting you until that idiot comes back, the least you could do is pay attention to what's going on around you. Otherwise, you'll never survive Medusa. I'm still not entirely sure why she wants you, of all people; you seem to be pretty fuckin' useless to me."

Soul looked down to his clenched fists at the verbal abuse, grinding his teeth to keep from snapping back at her. Watching him fight with himself, Maka felt bad about being so rude to him; assuming he had enough brains to be concerned about Medusa, he had enough going on without her being a bitch to him. "Sorry," she sighed, massaging her temples. "Could you just tell us what you remember from your...er, car days and about Arachne?"

The doctor leaned forward in anticipation. With the hiss and pop of a bottle opening, Tsubaki announced her return, pressing the chilled bottle into his hand and kissing her husband on the cheek. Maka watched them as the Japanese woman leaned in and whispered something to Blake, who frowned a little, but nodded. She wondered briefly why they had left Angie unattended, but then thought back to the little girl's gaze that had held more wisdom than her years should have allowed. Of all the five year olds Maka had known-and, she would admit there weren't many-Angie was the most mature. Besides, her partner, as it was easiest to think of him, was speaking again, and Angie wasn't her responsibility at the moment.

"I-well, I honestly don't remember much before Arachne did whatever the fuck she did to me. Mostly sounds."

"Your memories are auditory, in other words?" Stein interrupted, scribbling on a small notebook. Soul seemed confused as to where the book came from, but Maka knew from experience that Stein always kept something to take notes with on his person at all times.

Blake scoffed. "Yeah, that's just what he said. Go on, dude."

"Like, Maka, I remember your voice more clearly, but I think because you were an almost constant presence, I know what you look like? Almost positive Blake and Tsubaki had been around, but I couldn't remember them or this place. I can't really explain it. I remember the highways always stretching in front of me, no end to them in sight. God awful music stands at the forefront of a lot of my memories." He looked up at Maka through his bangs, teeth flashing in a quick grin. "I'm assuming now that it was yours? Dude, you need a serious education."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with drums and bass!" Maka huffed, glaring at him. She was tired of having to defend her music, and she knew once Blake was given the opportunity to rag on it, he would seize it.

The blue haired roadhouse owner guffawed, holding his fist out to Soul. He looked at the proffered fist in confusion, not understanding what Starre wanted him to do with it. "Pound it, you li'l shit! I've been trying to tell her that since before she grew tits."

"Blake!" Both women exclaimed at the same time, though Maka's angry tone almost drowned out Tsubaki's gentle reprimand.

Steeling himself with a smirk, Soul took the plunge and tapped his knuckles against Blake's. With that one action, he had just pushed himself up a few spots on Maka's shit list. It seemed that deeply instilled reflexes were all that saved him from a severely bruised shoulder, as he leaned back and caught Maka's fist in his opposite palm. Despite the lingering effects of the morphine, she could tell by the way Soul's eyes narrowed that she still had enough force behind the punch that the contact stung.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh seemed to linger in the air as everyone watched Maka and Soul glare at each other warily. It was Stein who eventually broke the stalemate, the click of his lighter drawing everyone's attention. He inhaled, eyes rolling back when the smoke reached his lungs.

Stein turned his disconcerting gaze back to Soul once more. "That was quite impressive. Not many people can stop one of Maka's attacks." The woman in question huffed, crossing her arms and glaring. "Do you have any formal training, Soul?"

He shrugged. "That's what Kid told me."

"Kid?" Tsubaki asked, looking for clarification.

Soul looked to the blonde, panicked expression telling her she needed to take over. She raised a shoulder, twisting a thin silver ring she wore on her middle finger. "Nickname he thought up for the angel. Azrael is a conspicuous name, and he does look like a teenager, so it's actually pretty smart, I guess. Easier to remember, too."

Maka made a face at him when she caught his smug expression, knowing that his poorly-concealed smirk was a result of her words. She wanted to tell him not to get used to it, because he was sure he wouldn't be receiving very many more compliments from her, but then, the doctor de-ashed his cigarette on the floor, and Tsubaki made a quiet conflicted noise, and Maka decided to simply let it go.

"Right. Soul, could you continue on with your story?" Stein asked, and Maka smiled as he blatantly ignored Tubaki's concerns.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, I don't remember much. When I do, it feels like my brain's try'na self-destruct. Kid said somethin' about Arachne accidentally putting a wall between me and my memories?"

"It happens, though it's not very common. Arachne doesn't often perform magic, so it would make sense she wouldn't be able to fully control her spell. You're fortunate she managed to put you back together in one piece. In fact, I wonder if everything _was_ put together correctly…" The hungry gaze was back in Stein's eyes. Blake flicked a beer cap at him, hitting him with uncanny accuracy right in the center of his forehead. The doctor blinked, and nodded his thanks to the roadhouse owner.

"So what do you know for certain?" Tsubaki asked, looking genuinely interested.

"Uh, my name is Soul Ev-Eater. I was 25 when Medusa fucked my life up. I was a car—Maka's car, apparently—for eight years, which I don't really remember much. Before that, I had—have, a brother and grandmother who believed I was dead until some nurse chick told them I wasn't." He glanced over at Maka and she quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the conflicted emotions in her eyes; she hadn't expected him to have had any sort of trouble in his life. "I had been gone two years before being changed, I think. I heard Wes and Gran talking—"

"When?" Maka's voice was sharp, her gaze accusatory. "Where did you meet up with your family? You gave the impression that you were alone, and now you all of a sudden have a whole family who miss you and care about your safety?"

"I didn't even know I did until I met Heather after the MRI, and it wasn't like you were exactly lucid for most of our interactions. So you can stop looking so offended, like I intentionally didn't tell you."

Maka narrowed her eyes at him. "Who's Heather, and why haven't you mentioned her until now? We're supposed to be partners, Soul Eater."

"Well, that's news to me. Last I knew, you were just my babysitter, putting up with me because it's either that or an eternity in hell!"

"Oh, come on! You—"

Blake slammed his chair back onto all four legs, getting to his feet and slapping his hands on the table in one smooth motion. Glaring back and forth between the two of them, he snarled, "You two need to get your shit together, because I'm getting real fuckin' sick of your pansy arguments. Maka, stop being so fuckin' hostile; Soul didn't do anything to you besides exist. Soul, just…try not to give her anymore reasons to be pissed at you."

"He started it!"

"She started it!"

They glared at one another over their pointing fingers, both pouting childishly.

"Jesus Christ!" Blake threw up his hands. Snatching up his beer, he pointed the bottle at the two and said, "I'm going to go check on Angie, because I cannot deal with you two toddlers throwing tantrums. In the meantime, I hope the two of you grow the fuck up." Shaking his head, he stalked out of the room, trying to slam the swinging door behind him.

Tsubaki was the first one to laugh, trying to stifle it at first, covering her mouth and snorting quietly before throwing back her head and clutching her stomach. Maka tried not laugh, to keep her juvenile pout, but was soon giggling with the other woman; Soul cracked soon after. Even solemn-faced Stein smiled.

Trying to get her breath back, Maka looked up at Soul and stuck her hand out. "Look, Blake's right. I've been unfair to you, so I'm apologizing." He raised an eyebrow, looking between her and her hand. "Just accept it, idiot."

He grinned crookedly at her and grasped her hand. It was warm and small in his, calluses covering almost every part of it. She was a little bit disgusted with herself, with the fact that she felt comforted and reassured when she held his hand..

"Truce, then," he said, voice rumbling up from deep in his chest. Even if she hadn't been able to see him, she could have heard the smile in his words, the uneven curling of his mouth.

"Deal," Maka said, shaking his hand once. She wasn't sure how well they would work together, but she was willing to make an effort, despite what her gut told her. Her instinct usually never failed her, but, on the other hand, she was aware of her prejudices and was going to trust Blake's call on this strange man.

It would be a change for her-and a drastic one at that. For five years, since she stopped hunting with her father, she had worked alone, taking on jobs intended for partners by herself, because she hadn't met anyone she had trusted enough to watch her back better than she could. She knew her stubborn refusal worried her friends, but she had never found it to be a problem. Confident in her ability to take care of herself, she had never been concerned about not being able to handle the jobs she chose; she was responsible in regards to always knowing what she was up against. Besides, it would have been rather difficult to explain to a partner that sometimes her car stopped in the middle of the highway, so she had to turn around and go back to the town she had just passed through, only to find, with strange coincidence, that there was a job there.

"Now that you've cleared that up," Stein said, lighting a new cigarette from his old one. Maka and Soul jumped, tearing their attention away from each other and their thoughts. "You were saying something about your grandmother and brother, Soul?"

"Wha—oh, right. Um, well, long story short, they said I was missing for ten years, but I was only with you for eight. Kid said that I was a hunter, like you guys, and the two people I saw most definitely couldn't have been so it being a family thing is out of the question. Between when I left my family and was turned into a car—fuck, that's still weird to say—I became a hunter. That's really all I have."

"That would explain how you blocked Maka so calmly. Fighting must have become second nature to you during those two years, and as muscle memory is different than visual and auditory—they're controlled by different segments of the brain—you wouldn't forget how to defend yourself. As for the wall in your mind, I'll do more research, but right now the only solutions I can think of are either waiting it out or going to a psychic. I would recommend the former option; psychics are an odd sort."

Maka snorted in a decidedly unfeminine manner, giving Stein an affectionate, but sardonic, glance. He smiled lazily back at her, blowing smoke in her direction. Maka was one of the few people who could tease the doctor and not end up ribbons of their former selves. Only the traumatic experiences they had undergone together could have created the comfortable relationship they had; neither of them were particularly good around people in the beginning of a relationship, always worried about the other's ulterior motives.

"Well," Tsubaki chirped, getting to her feet. "In the meantime, can I get anybody anything to drink?" Stein opened his mouth, but she instantly rounded on him, putting hands to hips and narrowing her eyes in a matronly fashion. "No, you are not allowed to have any vodka, Doctor Stein—no, nor gin, nor any other kind of liquor you are going to ask about. Do you _want_ to die before you even reach forty?"

Stein _harrumph_ed and pushed back from the table, muttering under his breath about overprotective women who put their noses into other people's health, maybe he did want to die, thanks. He stalked out the front door with one last affronted look over his shoulder at the still scolding Tsubaki. They heard his monstrosity of a vehicle roar to life, and Tsu shook her head, easy smile back in place.

"Anything for you two, then?"

The nextcouple weeks at Starcrossed were busy as both Maka and Soul reconnected with the outside world in their own fashions. Maka spent most of her time talking with the various patrons who came into the roadhouse, many of whom she knew by name. She was rebuilding her network as she helped Tsubaki waitress and tend the bar, always keeping an ear out for any mention of Medusa or strange magic. About five days into their stay at Starcrossed, when Maka saw him poring intently over a book with a sober mug of coffee in front of him, she almost dropped the beer she was carrying. A giggling blonde woman at the table Maka was passing caught the bottle before it hit the floor.

"Shit," Maka said, blinking back to focus on what she was doing. With a grateful smile she took the bottle back from the woman. "Thanks so much, Patty."

"Not a problem!" Patty grinned, shooting Maka the thumbs up sign.

Her sister, Liz, leaned across the table with a conspiratorial look on her face. "It's easy to get distracted by a fine piece of ass like that one. He yours?" She asked with a wink. Maka's face was on fire, and she tried to splutter out something along the lines of "wha'—no way—he's not" before the sisters cut her off with loud laughter.

"He may not be hers, Sissy, but she sure would like him to be!"

Liz sent Soul an appreciative look. "Can't exactly blame her, now can you? The things I would do to that man…"

"Liz!" Maka gasped, nose wrinkling in disgust. "That's so wrong!"

"But it's true," the woman sang back. Shaking her head with a sigh, Maka thanked Patty once again for saving the beer before heading to the proper table.

Maka kept an eye on the puzzling white-haired man for the rest of her shift. As soon as she was released, though, she got carefully to her feet and pulled out the chair across from him. Now that Liz and Patty had pointed it out, Maka couldn't help but focus on how _attractive _Soul was. It both pissed her off and made her face burn red, which made her even angrier. Waiting for him to look up and see her there, she watched some of the older hunters clean their weapons as they sipped coffee of varying degrees of blackness. It occurred to her that the stockpile of guns and knives and stakes she had gathered in the trunk of her Toronado had not materialized along with Soul, and she turned abruptly to him, jerking the journal out of his grasp and upsetting his coffee in the process.

"Jesus-shit-Maka, what th'fuck?" he snarled, trying to mop the burning coffee out of his lap with a handful of cheap napkins. The blonde ignored him, frantically flipping through the tattered journal to the front. Not seeing what she was looking for, she threw the book back onto the table, mouth flattening.

Furious green met guarded red. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?"

Maka beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. After staring at her for a couple of seconds, obviously trying to decide whether heeding her command or ignoring it would hurt worse, Soul leaned in toward her. As soon as he was close enough, she leapt at him, fisting her hands in his shirt and jerking him close to her. With twisted satisfaction, she watched him struggle to get out of her grasp, his pupils dilating in fear.

"Where. Is. My. Mother's. Journal?" Maka said it slowly, so there would be no misinterpretation on what she was asking for. Soul gulped audibly, glancing between her and the journal that still lay open between them.

"I-I don't know; I've never seen it, I swear!"

She let him go, pushing him back away from her in disgust and frustration. Getting to her feet again, she pushed a hand through her hair and sent one last glare his way before stalking outside. She couldn't believe this was happening to her; it was the absolute worst thing she could imagine. Her mama's journal was gone, and with it, her last connection to the woman she idolized. For eight years, it had been a physical form of her mother's presence, the only thing Maka had left from her. No longer could she flip idly through the pages, tracing Kami Albarn's careful lettering, imagining her mother painstakingly copying everything from her grandfather's journal. The pictures that had been paperclipped to the inside of the back cover were gone, too, and with them, any record of what Kami had looked like, except in Maka's memory.

Maka ran a hand over her mouth, fighting back tears as she stared up at the cloudless sky. It was mocking her, the bright sun shining cheerfully down on her as her world, once again, fell apart. With a scream she couldn't hold in, Maka whirled to the building and slammed her fist into the pole supporting the porch roof. The contact stung, but she felt _something_ and she reveled in it, hitting the wooden beam over and over again as the tears finally fell, until she couldn't see anything and her hand was a bloody mess. Knees giving out, she leaned her forehead against the worn wood, watching the dust beneath her turn to mud. Fucking incompetent witches, she thought, fingernails digging into her palm. They just had to waltz into her life and fuck everything up. She never asked to get mixed up in a familial feud, never asked for her car to have really been a human all along—especially not one she couldn't simply pass off to the highest bidder. No, the fucking _angel of the Lord_ had named her Soul's official babysitter, which really put the cherry on the top of the steaming pile of shit.

A large, warm hand between her shoulder blades made her jump and spin around, grabbing the man's wrist. Seeing it was Soul, she released him, trying to surreptitiously wipe the tear tracks off her cheeks. "What?" she croaked, glaring up at him.

He crouched down beside her, chewing on his lip. "I'm sorry, Maka. I really am. I know I'm nothing but an…an inconvenience and a headache to you. Neither of us asked for this, and now you're stuck with me. I'm gonna do my best not to be a total deadweight, though. Promise."

"It's not your fault, idiot." She looked up from her hands, throat closing briefly when she saw him watching her closely. His gaze was steady, focused entirely on her and her distress. It surprised her, the way he could devote his attention completely to her, the way he actually seemed to care about how she was feeling. It should have made her uncomfortable, having someone around her who was patient enough to potentially work past her barriers, but it didn't. She ran a hand through her hair before clearing her throat.

"You shouldn't be the one apologizing, Soul. Shit, look, I've been a complete bitch to you and you don't deserve it. You're here as reluctantly as me, both of us victims of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm just—I was just really upset about my mama's journal; it was all I had left of her. That doesn't excuse my attitude toward you, and I know that. I..." she sighed and forced herself to say what was needed, "I don't trust easily or readily. It may not seem like it, but I'm working on trusting you."

Soul smiled at her, losing the guarded look she hadn't even realized until now he had been wearing. The expression transformed his whole face, eyes crinkling in the corners and lines forming around his mouth; with his fearsome teeth on display, he was an odd combination of terrifying monster and harmless puppy. Getting to his feet, he held a hand down to her, as though inviting her to take the first step in trusting him. Maka hesitated just a moment, knowing that the first step was always the most important, before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and placing her hand in his.

She didn't consciously know it then, but some part of her was aware that this was the end of an era of loneliness and terror, that, through some cosmic joke or a twist of fate or whatever you wanted to call it, she had found the man into whose hands she was putting her life.

And yet, as she watched him scoop up a squealing Angie later that week, pretending to chomp on the little girl's stomach, Maka couldn't find it in herself to be scared of how easy it was to settle into a daily routine with him. In the early afternoons, when it was generally slow, she would help Angie carry her toy or activity of choice down from her bedroom, and the two would set up camp in a quiet corner of the main room. For the next hour or two, giggling—and occasionally roaring and squealing—would be all that was heard from either the child or the woman.

She usually avoided children like the plague, but there was something about the child that called Maka to her, something that reminded her of herself. She didn't know if it was the girl's stubbornness or something else, but when Angie had come to her, eyes shining with excitement, and asked if she wanted to play with her, Maka couldn't find it in herself to say no. Even though it was embarrassing at first, she quickly forgot about the many eyes watching her as she focused on the joy Angie seemed to get from having someone new to play with. The little girl was interested in everything from tea parties to mock-hunts, reenacting stories Blake had apparently told her as he put her to bed. Only in a hunter family, Maka thought, shaking her head with a smile.

When Angie wanted to play hunters-and-monsters, as she called the game, Maka would have to call Soul over to play the part of the monster. The first time she asked him to help out, she was reluctant, not sure how well it would go over with both him and the child. But, after a couple of awkward minutes where he tried to figure out what the game was about, Maka discovered that Soul was a natural with children. And since Angie had decided hunters-and-monsters was way more fun than tea parties now that Soul could play the bad guy, Maka had even more opportunities to get to know a different side of Soul than she had before. She liked this side more than she thought possible—liked to watch him stomp around, hunched over and hands turned into claws, liked to watch him try and fail to fight back a smile as he tossed a giggling Angie in the air. But what she liked the most was when his face would flush a brilliant red as the various hunters called out corrections to his acting. It told her that he hated being ignorant, hated not knowing things he was positive had been second nature to him.

Noticing his determination to relearn the information, Maka helped him, quizzing him on the basics like how to ward off and kill a ghost. She taught him tricks to remember the Latin to exorcise a demon, giggling at his piss-poor accent and ignoring his glares. At first, it frustrated her that she couldn't help him practice fighting, but after watching a tipsy encounter with Blake on day eight of their stay at Starcrossed, Maka stopped worrying about him being out of practice when they finally went on a hunt.

It started out like a normal day, until Tsubaki put Angie to bed and the hard alcohol came out. Blake slammed a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses down in front of the white-haired man, a challenge in his eyes. "To prove if you're worthy of being my minion—"

Soul sent Maka a confused glance, and she rolled her eyes in response.

"—we will see which one of us can hold the most alcohol!"

"Blake…" Tsubaki began, her expression one of loving patience. "I don't think that's a very good idea."

"It's alright, Tsubaki," Soul said, nodding his thanks to her. "I think I can hold my own against him. And I'd love to show him up."

Maka sighed, propping her chin in her hand as she watched the two idiots take their third shot. She was fairly certain that Soul actually didn't stand a chance against the blue-haired man, knowing from experience that Blake could drink his way through an entire bottle of whiskey and barely feel the liquor. It was downright unnatural, his tolerance for alcohol—although, she thought, Blake _had_ been preparing for moments like this since he was roughly fourteen years old.

It began to get a little ridiculous when they reached the eighth shot, and neither Soul nor Blake showed signs of slowing down, other than the insults they were flinging back and forth. Maka and Tsubaki rolled their eyes at each other, muttering about men and testosterone. The tenth shot, however, brought trouble. Soul had apparently said something that Blake found highly offensive, and the blue-haired man pushed back from the table with a roar, knocking his chair over in the process.

"Wanna say tha' t'my face, you li'l bitch?" Blake snarled, bracing his palms on the table as he got in Soul's face.

Too cool for the other man's threat, Soul raised an eyebrow and leaned back, crossing his arms and ankles with a smirk. Maka hid a smile behind her hand, though she must not have been quick enough because Soul sent her a wink. "I think I alrea'y did, Starre. Or is the alcohol makin' you deaf _and_ stupid?"

"I'll take y'down, Eater! Pound yer face in so hard ye'll know what your stomach looks like from th'inside!"

"That doesn't even make sense, Blake," Maka drawled, swirling her glass of wine.

Blake was silent for a few moments, going over the sentence multiple times in his head before crossing his arms and stamping a foot. "You stay out of this, Albarn. Eater knows what I mean!"

"Yeah, I do. An' I say _bring it_, y'blue haired monkey!"

"Soul!" Maka exclaimed, half rising out of her chair when she saw Blake move, but sshe was too late to stop either of the men. She was left with her mouth hanging slightly open when Soul ducked to the side, rolling off his chair to avoid Blake's lunge. Tsubaki gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth, but Maka was simply impressed that he had perfectly executed the evasion.

Settling back down and crossing a leg, the blonde took a sip from her wine as she watched the two men fight. She liked Soul's style, appreciated his controlled movements, the way his eyes never strayed from his opponent, constantly tracking Blake's hands and feet, and the way he shifted his weight. Soul fought like an expert, she realized, keeping his center of gravity low since Blake was bigger than he was. Every move Blake made, Soul had already anticipated and reacted to, usually before Maka even realized the blue-haired man had moved.

"I've never seen Blake so evenly matched," Tsubaki whispered in awe to Maka. And it was true; Blake usually dominated a fight, pounding his opponents into the ground in the first couple minutes. But he and Soul had been feinting and lunging at one another for a good fifteen minutes now, and Maka would swear that Soul had successfully landed more hits on Blake than the retired hunter had on him.

Almost immediately after Tsubaki's comment, however, Soul's luck turned on him. It appeared to Maka that Blake had underestimated his opponent in the beginning, but after gauging Soul's skill, began attacking in full force. Maka had to give Soul credit, though, because he kept up with Blake's barely visible swings, his defense almost as good as his offense. Half the time, she only knew he had missed a block when he grunted in pain. The longer Blake stayed on the offensive, however, the less frequently Soul successfully dodged the other man's attacks.

Soul's final mistake was falling for Blake's feint, intending to duck under the hunter's right hook but ending up taking a left uppercut to the jaw instead. He went sprawling. Seeing Soul's head slam into the corner of the table he landed on, Maka gasped, leaping from her chair and rushing to his side. Carefully, she lifted his head, feeling the backside of it for any blood. She sighed in relief when, not only was there no blood, but she saw his chest move in shallow gasps and his eyes roll in their sockets. Vaguely, in the background, she could hear Blake's raucous laughter and Tsubaki's gentle attempts at scolding, but she was too focused on Soul's condition to worry about either.

Soul groaned, stirring in her grip. His eyes fluttered open, and Maka had never been so relieved to see red in her entire life. "You're an idiot," she told him flatly when his gaze finally focused on her.

He grinned, shark teeth on display. "But I'm your idiot, right?"

She scoffed in disgust, dropping him and getting to her feet, nose in the air. But if his quiet chuckles were anything to go by, she hadn't moved quickly enough to hide either her blush or her grin.


	4. Chapter 4 Midnight Wars & Granted Wishes

**A/N: **Don't own Soul Eater or Supernatural; Ookubo and the CW beat me to it. Damn.

**Chapter 4: Midnight Wars and Granted Wishes**

The chemistry between Maka and Soul became a popular topic for the various patrons of Starcrossed to discuss in whispered conversations that stopped abruptly whenever one or the other entered the room. Both noticed it, exchanging looks as their friends hushed each other as they approached their tables, but neither Maka nor Soul knew how to go about confronting Tsubaki or Blake. They knew it was mostly because the hunters were bored that they had become such a hot topic.

Things had been fairly mundane lately—which, for these people, Soul was finding out, really wasn't all that ordinary. For one, the sheer volume of alcohol the roadhouse went through during a typical week was mind-boggling to the amnesiac. If he were to actually sit down and think about it, though, he shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to see empty keg after empty keg being rolled to the back of the building. After all, most of Starcrosssd's clientele were hunters trying to forget their horrifying pasts.

Soul was quickly learning that among hunters, having a sob story wasn't something unique, though there was never a lack of sympathetic looks when someone's background was revealed. Not that it happened very often; hunters were a closed bunch, rarely offering personal information. No one ever became a hunter by waking up one morning and deciding over their sunny-side up eggs that today was a fine day to upend their lives and hunt some nasties. Everyone had a past. It made Soul wonder what his past was, what had pushed him over to the dark side. As far as he could tell from his research on the Evans family, they were atypical, in the most typical sense of the word. Incredibly rich and unbelievably talented musicians, yes, but hunters? Not even close. Soul found no rogue family members, no dirty family secrets he could dig up—aside from himself, of course.

There was no lack of news coverage for him, and Soul found himself almost sickened when he saw his scowling face staring back at him from almost every major news website. Titles like **THE PRODIGAL SON RETURNS** and **REBEL EVANS, THOUGHT DEAD, MISSING ONCE AGAIN **were featured on the front pages of various of newspapers, as though his mysterious return and disappearance was more important than stories about robberies and homicides.

In disgust, he slammed the laptop shut and buried his head in his arms. With the hunters' obsession with checking every news article ever written for something that could be a case, Soul estimated he had two days, tops before everyone in Starcrossed knew his real identity. He was fairly positive that no one would really care, but even the idea of being the center of attention had him groaning into the wood top of the table.

"What's wrong?" Maka asked, the sound of a chair scraping across the wood telling him she was sitting down. Raising his head, Soul pushed back his hair and gave her a weary look, and Maka grinned, holding out a steaming cup of coffee for him. "Ah, mug shot make front page again?"

He snatched the mug from her, taking a large mouthful before glaring at her when she giggled. Swallowing the burning mouthful, he scowled. "Yeah, yeah, because it's _so_ funny that apparently my family doesn't own any pictures of me besides the one from when I got busted for something I don't even remember doing. You just sit there and laugh yourself to death—please be my guest."'

"No need to be such a sour puss," she said, raising an eyebrow at him over her mug of coffee. "It could be worse; they could've used some embarrassing photo of you, like, drunk off your ass of something. Just think, they might have been doing you a favor."

"Yeah, some favor," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "It's been almost a day since you found that first article; you would think the media would have some other drama to stir up. At this point, it's getting a bit ridiculous." She had set up an alert system for any mention of Soul Evans almost a week ago, and though there had been days of junk emails, eventually it paid off when she received a notification that morning.

Maka made a non-committal noise in her throat, pulling the laptop toward her. Flipping open the screen, she slouched down in her chair and propped her legs up in Soul's lap as she waited for the computer to boot up. He watched her from under his eyelashes, the light from the computer highlighting the bags under her eyes, yet washing out most of the details of her face. "You look exhausted, Maka."

She didn't even bother glancing up from the computer screen. "You really know how to flatter a woman."

"Shut up, idiot. You know what I meant. It's late; you should go to bed. The articles will be there in the morning." Sometimes she felt the need to stay up with him, keeping him company late into the night. They often just sat outside in comfortable silence, watching the night wear on, stars appearing and disappearing. Somehow, Maka knew why he avoided sleep, knew of the nightmares that plagued his dreams and caused him to wake gasping in the middle of the night. He never remembered waking, never remembered the dreams, but when he got up the next morning, Soul was always exhausted mentally and physically. It threw him off the entire day, and he was haunted by the feeling of something being _wrong_, though he could never say what exactly it was.

She pinned him with one look. "I'm fine, Soul. I'm not staying up because of you, so stop feeling guilty."

"Then go to sleep!"

"No!" Maka snarled, slamming her good hand on the table. Both froze, listening with bated breath to see if she had accidentally woken up anyone upstairs. Not hearing anything, Maka continued, keeping her voice low. "Will you actually listen to me for once, and not simply hear what you want? I'm awake, not because of you, but because I couldn't sleep. What a concept, I know! And as long as I'm awake, I might as well be productive. Hence the computer," she gestured to the laptop.

He glared back at her, crossing his arms. "I don't believe you."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

Shaking his head, Soul looked down to hide his smile; he knew she was staying up because of him, and though he still felt guilty, he appreciated it more than he could put into words. "Really, _Gone With the Wind_? You're such a dork!"

"I am not!" she huffed, pointing her foot to poke him in the stomach. Soul grabbed her foot, fluttering his fingers over the sensitive arch. She tried to keep her affronted tone, but couldn't fight back a giggle. "It's—it's—no, stop it, Soul, this, this isn't fair!" Maka laughed as she struggled to get her foot out of his grasp. Soul kept her captive with one hand as his other one moved to the back of her knee, her weak spot.

She was squirming around on her chair, breathless from laughter as she tried to kick him with her other foot. He was too engrossed with watching Maka's face, marveling in the difference a smile made on it. Knowing he was the reason she was laughing, knowing that she was relaxed enough around him to let him even touch her, caused a warm feeling to bubble up inside of him. It scared him, the way this woman made him feel. He had only known her for about two weeks, but being near her—even when she had hated his guts—gave him an inexplicable feeling of contentment.

"Soul, stop!" she squealed, trying to work her other foot up under his arm, where she knew he was ticklish.

He trapped it between his side and arm, though, using the new advantage to tickle both her feet at the same time. "Thanks for that, Maka; really appreciate it." She was crying now, because she was laughing so hard, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face.

"Uncle, uncle!" She cried, trying to get her breath back.

Soul released her with a victorious smirk. "You finally admitted defeat. I must say, you put up a fierce defense but in the end, you lost and I win. So, _ha_—"

He didn't get further into his gloating than that, because Maka leapt at him, straddling Soul to keep him trapped against the chair. Soul stilled under her, eyes wide as he stared at her, barely breathing. Seeming to realize what she had just done, Maka froze, cheeks flaming. "I—I didn't mean—um, I mean—well, this is awkward." She finished with a little laugh, though she didn't move from his lap.

Soul watched her attention flick from his mouth back to his eyes, green almost swallowed by her pupils. He didn't know if it was because of the semi-darkness of the room or something else, but watching her watch him made it hard to breathe.

The lights flicked on over head and they jumped apart guiltily, turning to the doorway. Blake stood there, hands on his hips. "Either go the fuck to sleep or quiet the fuck down, minions."

Maka shot her friend an embarrassed smile. "Ah—sorry, Blake," Maka said, sending one last look at Soul before she hurried out of the room, squeezing past Blake, who still stood in the doorway.

The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow in amusement. Soul rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding his gaze. "Look—"

"Nah, man, don't apologize. Just don't fuck up." His green eyes held both a promise and threat, and Soul swallowed.

"Uh, got it."

Blake never brought up what happened that night, but Soul noticed him and Tsubaki watching their interactions more closely than ever. After the first couple of days, he had gotten quite good at ignoring their not-so-subtle questions, but he still found himself wishing for Maka to get well enough for them to go on a hunt.

Three days later, his wish was granted in the form of a phone call to Maka from Jackie Dupree, one of her contacts in Colorado. Jackie herself wasn't a hunter, Maka told him, but her partner had been, and so she kept an eye out for news of anything suspicious. Apparently, a couple towns over from Jackie, a family was found murdered in their beds, yet none of the locks were broken and the alarm system hadn't been sounded.

"Jackie's done some research into the house's history, and this has happened twice before, about sixty and eighty years ago, respectively." Maka's tone was professional and no-nonsense as she relayed the information. "Back then, they chalked it up to the town's drunk gone crazy, both times. But Jackie thinks it's a ghost, intent on getting revenge. If you're not scared," she shot him a teasing smile, "it would be a good starter hunt for you—for both of us, as individuals and as a team. What d'you think?"

"I'm for it, but do you think I'm ready? And your wrist is still in a cast," Soul said, gesturing to the pink cast on her right arm. "Isn't that your dominant hand?"

"It's a ghost, Soul; you have to be a completely incompetent to screw it up. Besides, you'll have me at your back. Stop worrying. We obviously won't do it if Dr. Stein doesn't give me the go-ahead. "

Soul frowned, brows furrowed. Now that a chance for a hunt was looming over them, he wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with going out on one but Maka's eyes were shining with excitement and he couldn't find it in himself to tell her no, he _was_ too scared—mostly because he would never hear the end of it. Running a hand down his face, he groaned. "Fine, go ask Stein. Let's go burn ourselves a dead bitch."

She squeaked in excitement, throwing her arms around him, chanting, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" And as quickly as she had come, she was gone, weaving between tables in search of the doctor, always around but always elusive. Soul was smiling in spite of himself. Yes, he was scared of what would happen on his hunt, but, quite frankly, he was sick of the roadhouse. He needed a change of scenery, needed something to take his mind off of the thought that had been playing on repeat for a few days—_where the fuck was Kid?_

They hadn't heard anything from the angel since he had dropped them off in the parking lot of Starcrossed nearly a month ago. Kid's location and what could have happened to him was, for the most part, all Maka talked to him about. Soul always responded with slight variations of the same response, essentially telling her to stop worrying about it, but he was just as concerned as she was. All of his reassurances, though they had been directed at Maka, were partly for himself, too, and he knew from experience that his attempts at consoling her were failing pretty miserably. Nothing he said convinced him that something terrible hadn't befallen their fine feathered friend, and each day that passed without contact with Kid only strengthened that belief. But now, through the blessing that was Jackie Dupree, they had something to take their mind off of the mystery, and, as such, they were going to immerse themselves whole-heartedly in the hunt.

When Maka returned a lot later than he had expected, a bounce in her step, Soul knew that Stein had given his permission for her to take the case.

"Guess what!" she sang, perching on his table, legs swinging as she gave him the biggest shit-eating grin.

"Chicken butt," Soul deadpanned, not looking up from the computer screen, but watching her from the corner of his eye. Her shoulders slumped and she gave him the most adorable little pout he had ever seen.

Noticing his smirk, she gasped, closing the laptop on his fingers so she could lean forward and poke him in the nose. "You're such a fun sponge, Soul!"

"And you're such a dork," he countered, trying to free his fingers. "We both have our specialties; mine just happens to be underappreciated."

"Whatever," Maka scoffed. "I _had_ important news to tell you, but," she hopped off the table, "if you're going to be like that, then I won't share."

Soul grabbed her hand as she turned away, pulling her back toward him. Red met green. "Alright, spill, Albarn."

Smiling once again, Maka held up a finger. "First, Stein gave me permission! So the hunt is a go." She held up another finger, reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet, her eyes shining. "Two, here, this is for you. You've committed your first federal offense and are now officially a hunter. Congratulations!"

He took it from her, knowing exactly what it was without needing to open it. The weight and shape was familiar in his hands, and he could feel the pressure building up in the back of his head, signaling another flashback. As he reacquainted himself with the world of hunting, they had become more and more frequent. Each time was accompanied by crippling pain that sent him to his knees, clutching his head to try and ease the agony, and after the fit had passed, he was left with an ache that lasted for hours. Fighting it down, not wanting to ruin the moment, he flipped the wallet open and immediately snorted in laughter. "You are _awful_, Maka."

Staring back at him in color—something he wasn't used to seeing—was his mug shot, cropped to show him only from the shoulders up. Devilish red eyes peeked out from under intentionally tousled white hair, and Soul felt a shudder run through him as he looked at it. He hardly recognized the man in the picture as human, let alone as himself.

"Do—do you like it? Using the mug shot was Stein's idea; I told him you probably would get mad, because I know you hate it and everything it stands for, but he—"

She stopped talking abruptly when he enveloped her in a hug, hiding his conflicted expression in her hair. She felt right in his arms, her head tucking under his chin perfectly, petite body strong enough that he didn't feel he had to worry about breaking her if he squeezed too hard. But he didn't know if she was just putting up with him because she had to, or if she had genuinely had a change of heart in the parking lot all those weeks ago. Somehow, knowing most of their relationship had developed in a place called Starcrossed, of all things, didn't do anything to alleviate his concerns.

"So, it's good?" Maka's voice was slightly muffled from where she had buried her face in his chest.

"It's perfect," Soul replied. Somehow, he knew she understood that he wasn't just talking about the fake IDs she had given him.


End file.
